Breaking the Chains
by Photis
Summary: Slightly reworked, but still the same basic story of HG/SS on their tortuous path to what might be love, waiting for the bubble to burst.
1. Introduction

Disclaimer: All copyrights belong to J K Rowling and no money is being made from this story.  
  
Note: This story deals with rape, and the issues arising from it, but does not attempt to romanticise sexual abuse or rape. It will also deal with issues of suicide and euthanasia. It is not meant to be pleasant, and I cannot guarantee that it will have a happy ending, although I hope that it will.  
  
There are NO GRAPHIC DETAILS - this is R not NC-17  
  
Introduction:  
  
The title is a reference to the Garbage lyrics, album G, song 'Stroke of Luck'  
  
You say that you'll be there to catch me;  
  
Or will you only try to drag me?  
  
These are the rule I make;  
  
Our chains were meant to break -  
  
You'll never change.  
  
Here comes the cold again, I feel it closing in,  
  
You're falling down, and all around me, falling  
  
Stroke of luck, or gift from God?  
  
Hand of fate, or devil's cause?  
  
From below or saints above, you come to me now.  
  
Enjoy - Photis 


	2. Possession

Disclaimers: See Author's Notes.  
  
This has had an extensive rewrite, and is no longer identical to liquidsilver's version.  
  
Prologue: Possession  
  
The air surrounding Hermione Granger's seventh and final year at Hogwarts was constantly thick with apprehension.  
  
The danger Voldemort represented had resulted in increasing security over the past two years, but now the losses were beginning to add up, and only what was essential was being done.  
  
There were no more Hogsmeade weekends. There was no one out of the castle after nightfall. Even during daylight hours, time spent outside was strictly limited to those few classes which deemed it absolutely necessary, to teach the techniques of defence. Those who expressed an interest in a career as an Auror got undoubtedly the most tuition and support.  
  
There was a death warrant out on Harry Potter. But there were a lot of death warrants out, these days.  
  
September had barely passed and students and staff alike were getting restless, weighed with the burden of all that lay before them. Even those not directly involved with the impending war felt it boring down on them, into their consciousness. It was starting to show outward signs all around. Tempers were short and the happy chatter that used to fill the great hall at meal times, and the common rooms in the evenings, were instead replaced by uncomfortable silences and occasional angry outbursts. Even Dumbledore's characteristic sparkle seemed to have dimmed, although that could have been a result of increased interference in the school curriculum by the Ministry.  
  
Hermione was a prefect, but not head girl. She had her hopes, but when two Ravenclaws had been selected, she had accepted it with the good grace she had been brought up to show. But it had been a big disappointment. She contented herself with the knowledge that her OWL results had been better than theirs, even if they were Ravenclaws.  
  
But she was glad for the privileges it afforded - her own room without interfering room-mates, the scope for roaming it had all afforded her, and the access to the restricted section of the library at any time of the day or the night.  
  
But there were significantly less adventures these days. After a few close shaves, even Ron wasn't feeling adventurous these days. Harry, of course, was taking every available opportunity to slip on his invisibility cloak and wander into all the trouble he could find, because it seemed that nothing, not even this, could repress his insatiable desire to stick himself into dangerous things. He was, after all, the Boy Who Lived.  
  
There was tension, though, growing between the three friends. Harry was talking in his sleep, those rare occasions he slept. Ron would bring it up once in a while, but the tired look of exasperation haunting Harry's features was normally enough to make him Ron bite his tongue quickly. Hermione, after listening the first time, would change the topic. It frightened her, honestly, though she wasn't about to show outward signs of that.  
  
And maybe that was the reason Harry would often wander through the halls late at night. It would clear his mind from the disturbing visions that danced through him while he slept, taunting him, testing him, to see how far they could drive him.  
  
It wasn't Voldemort that he was seeing; it wasn't Voldemort he feared. It was himself. And the images in his dreams. Every time he searched his soul for answers, the onslaught of images and suggestions just got stronger, and more difficult to resist.  
  
To make matters worse he was too stubborn, too afraid of censure, to seek help. He would deal with it alone.  
  
* * *  
  
Severus Snape was getting tired.  
  
Tired of the double agent act. Tired of dealing with bratty children who couldn't make a decent potion for their lives. Tired of watching bright minds having to be overlooked because of the sheer stupidity of classmates, and the prejudice of the death eaters. Tired of the seemingly endless bouts of Cruciatus almost daily as punishment for deserting Voldemort for so long.  
  
Voldemort had accepted Snape back with reluctance; only because he could get no-one closer to Dumbledore than Snape was already.  
  
He was tired of reporting back to Dumbledore every single time he came back from these meetings, when all he really wanted to do was retire to his quarters and wash off every single remnant of those disgusting revels he could.  
  
Wash away the scent of blood which, now, it felt like permanently surrounded him. The scent of sweat and tears and the overhanging cloud of guilt. The fluids of the Muggle women he was violating, listening to their screams and sobs as they writhed underneath him, pleading for their lives and their bodies. Virgins, most of them, barely adults. Good Catholic girls seemed to be a favourite, as Voldemort handpicked them all for one quality or another which they possessed. He wanted to see their spirits beaten, crushed beyond all repair.  
  
And this was definitely quite the successful method.  
  
It never took place behind closed doors. Some twenty of Voldemort's inner circle, his most loyal Death Eaters, would watch and cheer him on.  
  
Voldemort seemed instinctively to know how Snape despised this casual, obscene intimacy, hated it even more than murder, and so selected it as a punishment.  
  
And he was tired of favouring Slytherins, those destined for the Dark Mark upon graduation. A few seventh years had left already, having the Mark burned into their flesh, fully believing that this was the proper thing to do.  
  
It seemed like it was nothing more than a Death Eater Training Camp, and Snape had to keep tabs on all this, and make reports.  
  
He was getting to the point where he wasn't sure how much more he could take.  
  
* * *  
  
Voldemort. The most powerful dark wizard in centuries upon centuries. He was completely aware that Severus Snape wasn't as loyal as he'd like to make himself out to be. Not loyal to him, and maybe not loyal to that school of his that he seemed to treasure so dearly.  
  
Probably not even loyal to himself. So why let him live?  
  
Because he was fun to play with. Everyone loves their toys, and Lord Voldemort is of course no exception. Hell, he practically made the rule. It was marvellous knowing the misery he could drag that man through.  
  
Never did he show signs of near breaking point, and while Voldemort normally would admire that in his followers, he was absolutely enthralled that this man provided this particular outlet for these games.  
  
He was going to have to push him harder.  
  
Severus would be killed, of course, when his time came. Just . . . Not Yet.  
  
As for the boy who lived? That wretched, wretched child was being taken care of. The web he had woven, the tangled threads. He'd drive *himself* insane, and no one would be the wiser.  
  
This was all too beautiful for words.  
  
* * *  
  
The note found its way under the door without Hermione noticing. Who knows how long it had been sitting there, as she pulled her robes over her skirt and white blouse to make her evening rounds. Glancing down at the floor, she saw the tiny scroll of parchment lying just beyond her door. She picked it up and recognized the small untidy hand right away. Short, simple, and to the point.  
  
  
  
"Hermione-  
  
I need to talk to you. Meet me in the astronomy tower at one tonight. It's urgent.  
  
Harry."  
  
Sighing resignedly, she stuffed the note into her pocket and glanced at the clock beside her bed. Ten to one, she noted as she slipped out the door. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, and they hadn't spoken too much recently. But he was, after all, one of her best friends, regardless of present atmosphere.  
  
* * *  
  
By the time she'd made her way up to the Astronomy tower, she was right on time. Looking around, she saw no signs of anyone at all, so she slid down against the cold, stone wall of the corridor to sit cross legged. Letting her mind wander, she became unaware of her surroundings momentarily, lost in thoughts of preparations for the NEWTs, and her Arithmancy homework. Anything other than what this conversation might entail.  
  
She was nervous. Would she admit it? No, of course not.  
  
She was absentmindedly chewing her nails, eyes closed when she was startled by an invisible hand on her shoulder. She jumped, then laughed, shaking her head.  
  
"Circe, Harry you frightened the life out of me. Where are you?" She looked around and spotted him removing the cloak beside her.  
  
"Sorry, all the practise at wondering around has made me really quiet. I haven't had a close shave in ages."  
  
"Where do you go wandering to?"  
  
"Anywhere, everywhere. I've been into all the other three house dorms . . . they're all so different it's hardly believable. But then anything goes at Hogwarts."  
  
"I guess. Why the one am meeting then? Put me out of my misery."  
  
Just haven't seen much of you lately. Guess we need to catch up."  
  
She nodded. "Yes but at this hour?"  
  
"Well you seem to work all the other hours that God sent."  
  
She laughed a bit, conceding it was mainly the truth. Then she ventured, "So how was your summer?"  
  
"Nothing unusual."  
  
Her fingers had crept over to his invisibility cloak and he was toying with it almost nervously, before he continued,  
  
"I can only thank Merlin that Dumbledore is the only wizard Voldemort's even remotely afraid of. That's the only way I'm even safe here. Still I just end up thinking, what's going to happen this year? What next, when I have to leave? Will Dumbledore ever let me leave?"  
  
They sat for a few moments in a silence, each one looking at some far off point. She was studying the stars, he the little intricacies in stone. He was the one who finally broke the quiet, clearing his throat softly.  
  
"You know, Hermione, I don't want to go on without you knowing this. When I'm away from you I miss you. More than I miss anyone else. "  
  
She looked at him, while his face was pointed at the floor, not daring look directly at her. He continued, "I don't think there's time for lies or pretence left to us, if I'm honest."  
  
He finally dared look up at her, and was relieved to find that she didn't look angry. She had a smile on her face, but it quickly darkened into the expression she had on her face when she was concentrating really hard on something, and was just so... worried, was probably the best way to describe it.  
  
"Harry. . . we're best friends. Well, the three of us. But. . . you and I just... I don't think we can ever be. So no pretences. I don't want to hurt you, but I don't return your feelings."  
  
His face fell. It wasn't that he was expecting any differently, really, but it still had that sting to it.  
  
"That's okay. I guess it's the memories of learning to kiss together that still haunt me. Mind if I steal one last kiss." he said, rising to his knees in front of her, lips brushing against hers, ever so lightly.  
  
He deepened the kiss, which didn't alarm Hermione much, but when he tried to slide his tongue past her lips, she pushed him away, objecting.  
  
"Hey! Enough!" She protested with a laugh.  
  
For a moment he looked at her uncertainly, the churning of emotions registering clearly on his face. The next moment something about him had changed. Something fundamental.  
  
He made no reply, but in a flash, he had tackled her to the ground, his lips covering hers once more, this time more roughly, biting down on her lower lip as he positioned his body over top of her smaller frame.  
  
"What the hell are you doing Harry! Get off me! Leave me alone! Please?" her voice trailed away as he captured her lips in yet another kiss.  
  
"Shhh" he murmured in her ear, hands moving to get a better hold of her. She was squirming and protesting, but if he noticed, he didn't show any signs of it.  
  
His weight was crushing her now. She knew with an instinctive certainty that he was going to carry this through.  
  
And then the full. . . well. . .wrongness of this situation occurred to her, as whatever happened was completely beyond her control. She cursed herself for not bringing her wand with her. But she hadn't thought she'd need it. This was Harry she was dealing with, not some slimy Slytherin.  
  
Oh gods.  
  
This was -Harry-. Suddenly she found herself wishing she were with the likes of Malfoy or one of his goons. They were stupid, yes, but she doubted even they would attempt something like this. But then again, she wouldn't have found herself in the astronomy tower at one a.m. with any of them, either. So much for trusting your friends.  
  
He was repositioning himself on top of her. He was undoing his robes. . . and he wasn't wearing anything underneath. Had he . . . had he planned this? It was unthinkable.  
  
But at this moment, she really didn't want to think anymore. She really didn't want to be inside herself anymore. Her body couldn't escape, but her mind intended to. Her eyes snapped shut, and suddenly it seemed like she just wasn't inside herself anymore. She could still feel the physical pains, but it all seemed far away, like a disjointed dream.  
  
This was not happening. . . This-Was-Not-Happening. This-Was-NOT- HAPPENING. It was the chant that established itself in her mind, the barrier her imagination had put up between her and this ultimate betrayal.  
  
This could not be happening. This was. . . this. . . this was. . .  
  
Mercifully, there was suddenly nothing but the cold descending darkness of oblivion, falling down all around her.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
She didn't know what time it was when she awoke. Of course Harry was nowhere to be found. Her clothes, though, had found themselves properly back on her body, but there was that aching soreness between her thighs. That feeling of dried blood, and. . . something else, something else sticky, she didn't recognize. Her eyes closed briefly and she sighed to herself when she figured it was the remains of. . . him. . . still left littering her insides. 


	3. Unravelling

Chapter 1: Unravelling  
  
Hermione pulled herself into a seated position, feeling it to be less vulnerable the lying one in which she had awoken. But she could move no further, her whole body seemingly frozen in shock and horror. Even with her blouse mended - by magic, she assumed - she could still the feel the coating of blood and semen on the inside of her thighs, a constant reminder of what.he.had done.  
  
Thoughts of Harry sent a sudden jolt through her body. To this point she'd only dealt with the physical sensations; the bruises on her back where his weight had crushed her into the stone; the mauled flesh of her breasts and lips; the horrific ache between her legs, the stinging of torn flesh. However all of this was suddenly overwhelmed by the feelings of humiliation, violation and most acutely, the betrayal that coursed through her body at thoughts of .him. She found that she couldn't even say his name in her mind without being thrown into the centre of an emotional whirlwind that eclipsed all other thoughts.  
  
Simply overwhelmed, Hermione hugged her knees to her chest and dropped her head allowing her hair to form a protective shield around her as the sobs she had so far contained forced their way out of her  
  
* * *  
  
Harry awoke sitting in an armchair in one of the mini-libraries that could be found tucked into the corners and alcoves of the less well used areas of Hogwarts.  
  
He felt relaxed. This in itself was unusual as his scar was aching dully, and snatches of the dreams he walked all night to avoid having were coming back in disordered and vivid fragments. Considering what tonight's dream had been.yes, all in all, very strange that he felt relaxed.  
  
"Merlin, give me strength," he breathed quietly. Or any other deity feeling inclined to watch over me today, for that matter. He left unsaid what he needed the strength for - but it ran through his mind anyway before he could totally suppress it. Strength to make sure the world was safe from him.  
  
The thrill of taking what he wanted was the most clear of all the memories.  
  
No - not memories - dreams that would never be acted upon.  
  
Thrill enough to exorcise the demons of eleven years under the stairs, neglected and hated. The thrill of pure power coursing through his veins, undiluted enough to cancel out the constant pain of hopes crushed.hopes of escaping the Durselys for good.of winning the TriWizard Tournament, and with it Cho.  
  
And all the while his mind ran over the possibilities that the dream presented to him, the rational part of his screamed that it wasn't just a her, to be dehumanised and used, she was Hermione, his friend. His friend. That the whole plan had swung on the fact that she trusted him enough to meet her in a deserted part of the castle in the middle of the night, without a wand.  
  
Harry closed his eyes in a vain attempt to block out the torrent of conflicting thoughts and feelings of the morning. He could never attack Hermione, abuse her in such a way. He badly needed that strength - because he was honest enough to admit that the dreams hold some appeal. And revulsion. Not that he would ever admit either out loud.  
  
And not that Hermione would be stupid enough to go anywhere without her wand, to meet him. Surely listening to his dreams that time had been enough to warn her away from him. Finally convinced that such a series of events could never come to pass, that he could never rape anyone, let alone Hermione, Harry disentangled himself from the knot his cloak and robes had formed in the chair, noticing for the first time that he wore nothing beneath his robes.  
  
Just like in his dream  
  
A cold chill went through him at this thought as he realised what it meant, and he looked down at his hands.  
  
There was blood on his fingers.  
  
Dazed and suddenly nauseous, he flicked his wand ('speculum') to conjure a patch of mirror in the wall by the chair. It showed fingernail marks in the skin of his face.  
  
Pointing the wand at his face he muttered 'coalesco' a healing charm that removed the scratches from his face, if not from his soul, before performing a cleansing charm on his hands. Then and only then he headed back to the Gryffindor Tower in search of Hermione.  
  
He was clinging to a last thread of hope that the dream was only that, not memories, and that when he found her, she'd be fine.  
  
Eyes glazed and breathing shallow, he walked on, wondering why his first reaction had been to remove the evidence of an attack, not to fear for the victim of the attack  
  
The victim. His friend. Hermione.  
  
* * *  
  
Severus Snape watched Harry Potter wander past, looking troubled and unfocused, heading towards the Gryffindor enclave, from the shadowy alcove he had ducked into on the sound of footsteps. The telltale tuft of silvery material coming from under his robes suggested he had been out all night.  
  
Typical, thought Snape, the whole castle is geared up to ensure his security, and he goes out for a night-time stroll, damn the consequences. The urge to confront him, put him in detention rose in Snape's mind.but no it was too much trouble.  
  
So Potter looked troubled.well let him join the rest of the world. The Golden Boy has to take of his rose-tinted glasses. battling with the after effects of another night of the Cruciatus curse, and the welling feelings of guilt for another innocent brutally debauched and killed, Snape had little enough energy left to stay alive. He still had to report to Dumbledore, not that he had learnt anything new, or of real value. But as he had long ago learnt, very little was worth the value of a human life, and nothing was worth inflicting the terror and suffering he saw every time he attended a Dark Revel.  
  
In fact, scarcely anything held value for Severus Snape any more. Not his life, not his body or any of the people he interacted with any more. About the only thing of value to him was his sarcasm - it ensured that people stayed away from him - that no-one was tainted by him or his ways any further.  
  
Not that he'd need it if he were dead.  
  
But Dumbledore, under the guise of compassion, and with reminders of his duty, saw fit to deny him even the most fundamental of choices.  
  
Not that the Promissum Charm could not be broken, if he had help.  
  
It was ironic, he mused idly, that countless numbers of his students must fantasise about causing him harm after one of his caustic comments. But if he were to ask any one of them to help him die, the would run screaming.  
  
Proof that the Gods have a sense of humour, really.  
  
* * *  
  
Voldemort reclined idly in his throne. It had been a gift from Lucius Malfoy - inspired really - although the man could be relied upon to show the garish taste of the nouveax riches in every aspect. Wormtail cowered by the door awaiting instruction.  
  
So much for Gryffindor courage.  
  
Snape had finally returned to consciousness and staggered away, probably to report another failure to Dumbledore and be absolved of his sins. Perhaps that was where Pettigrew's courage had gone to. Snape was proving unexpectedly resilient.  
  
Any other man would have got on with it and killed himself by now.  
  
Voldemort was loosing patience - having Snape admit defeat and take his own life would be sweet, but the waiting was growing tiresome, and the killing curse was nothing if not quick and efficient. Perhaps next time.  
  
.But the games with Potter were going much better. For the first time he had been able to control Potter in his dream state - make him act as a noble Gryffindor never should. Potter was showing less resilience than Snape.quite a paradox.  
  
Time to take a back seat, no use in allowing Potter to think anyone else was controlling his actions, telepathically or otherwise, or he would be able to shift the blame away from himself and duck the consequences. Anyway he had done enough to gather the clouds for the coming storm. Perhaps the girl would find herself pregnant.that would put pay to all the inevitable denials.and be most amusing.  
  
Plans laid, there was nothing to do but wait and watch, and revel in his own evil genius. Getting comfortable in a suitable indolent position, he began to laugh, the high cold sound chilling the hearts of even the most fervent acolytes.  
  
A/N:  
  
Right, the magic: the words are Latin speculum means mirror - coalesco is the verb to heal and Promissum charm is designed to bind someone to a promise. However it does not prevent them from persuading another person to break the promise for them.  
  
Hope you like this chapter - but anyway I'd just like to know what you think.if the response is positive, I'll post again soon.  
  
If anyone was wondering about the name Photis was an Greek who founded the seaport of Massilia c.600 BC. When he arrived in Massilia, then a tiny harbour, the local chieftain was in the process of betrothing his daughter to a local warrior. The girl chose instead to hand her betrothal cup to the hansom Greek, so laying the foundation for 2,500 year of culture, trading and wealth. As so much of my story is borrowed, I liked the theme.!  
  
Thank you for reading.Photis. 


	4. Cloud Burst

Disclaimers: see author's note  
  
Chapter 2: Cloud-burst  
  
Hermione wasn't in the Gryffindor Common Room, and Ginny hadn't seen her since last night. Nor was she in her room.  
  
Trekking down to breakfast, yielded no result other than an enforced breakfast, in order to look normal, and an inanely cheerful conversation that would have been enjoyable the previous morning, as a diversion from life, but this morning was only a delay and an inconvenience.  
  
Things were not looking good for the last thread of hope. It was in real danger of snapping, and was eventually severed by Hermione's empty seat in Transfiguration. No-one had the first clue where she was.  
  
Not even Professor McGonagall, Harry noted with relief. Evidently Hermione had yet to report his crime. Immediately disgusted with himself for thinking of his own protection first, Harry then spent the rest of the lesson conscientiously worrying about Hermione's welfare and whereabouts, a whispered conversation and a hastily passed note earning himself a detention for inattentiveness.  
  
Grabbing his stuff, eager to escape the confines of the classroom, Harry was stopped in his tracks by McGonagall's voice. To be precise, he froze guiltily.  
  
This is the start said a nasty voice in his head the start of the accusations, the disgust, the tears, this time you'll be thrown out with no protection and nowhere left to go.  
  
"Your detention, Mr Potter." McGonagall chided, "You may be thankful I do not have as selective memory as you appear to have today."  
  
"Sorry, Professor."  
  
"Be that as it may.Professor Hagrid was only remarking this morning that new.er.charges are becoming time consuming. Your detention will be to assist him this evening. I will inform him you are to report at 8pm."  
  
"Yes, Professor."  
  
"Very well, you may go and continue your efforts to locate Miss Granger now."  
  
She knows, she knows, oh Merlin, she knows, began the Voice of Conscience.  
  
No, she doesn't know. She would have said something. Act calm. Don't rouse suspicions. Keep walking. Find Hermione before anyone else does. Interjected the Voice of Self-Preservation, which was sounding infinitely more pacifying and reasonable to listen to than the prophecies of doom the Voice of Conscience had to offer.  
  
"So what d'you have to do for McGonagall?" asked a nervous looking Ron, standing waiting outside the Transfiguration classroom door, startling Harry away from his internal monologue.  
  
"Detention with Hagrid. At seven. Help him with some new creatures he's got. What?"  
  
Ron had gone very pale. "Oh." he filled "oh.that doesn't sound good. Are we going to go and try and find Hermione then?"  
  
Cold fear. Act calm. Don't rouse suspicions.  
  
"Yeah. Any idea where to start? Library?" That was the Voice of Self- Preservation talking - keep him away from the astronomy tower, cause you know she's still there.  
  
And with that the two boys set of in a seemingly concerned search of the castle, that was going to become ultimately fruitless, courtesy of the Voice of Self-Preservation.  
  
* * *  
  
The afternoon sun rays filled the room of the Astronomy tower where Hermione sat, immobile as a statue, and after this time, as unfeeling as one.  
  
The sobbing of the early pre-dawn hour had wracked through her body until long after the sun had risen properly, singularly failing to lift her spirits with it. Now the exhaustion of a sleepless night, the trauma of the attack, and then the emotional drain had taken their toll and she had fallen into a state of near catatonia, not wanting to think or feel any more.  
  
She remembered the sensation of leaving her body the night before. The way it had dulled the pain - and had allowed her to pretend for the shortest time that the rape was not happening.  
  
That was the sensation she was trying to recapture - and had succeeded to recapture, aided by fatigue, as the morning and now afternoon wore on. Because it was definitely afternoon now.  
  
She'd be missing potions right now.  
  
Snape would be furious.  
  
What she wouldn't give to be sitting at her usual table, helping Neville along, sniping at Malfoy and cronies, not a care in the world bar the mountain of homework to be completed, the expectation of everyone around her that she would be the best and the brightest at everything, and an evil megalomaniac plotting to kill her best friend and possibly her along with the rest of the world.  
  
Strange how one night could change all your priorities. She'd gladly endure any of Snape's sarcastic remarks or injustices to escape this tower, the web of violence and betrayal that had confined her there, trapped inside a shell of silence and denial that made staying alive just do-able.  
  
And so the afternoon wore on.  
  
How long are you going to sit there for? a voice in her mind said and WHY is no-one looking for me? Does no-one care?  
  
But this voice was ignored and, Hermione continued to sit in her cocoon until the sound of footsteps ascending the tower's spiral staircase filtered into her consciousness. Stealthy footsteps, like someone trying not to be heard, or not trying to step on a hem of a cloak that must not be dislodged or pulled.  
  
Harry.  
  
"Oh, God."  
  
In her panic, a childhood habit slipped out, appealing to God instead of the pagan deities found in the wizarding world. Right now, she didn't care one jot.  
  
He'd come back. She had to run. She couldn't go through that again.  
  
Stumbling to her feet, she reached the entrance to the staircase, just as Harry emerged, and removed his invisibility cloak. She froze, forgetting to breathe.  
  
But he didn't move as though to grab or attack her. Harry moved carefully around her, keeping a respectful distance and carefully not blocking her exit down the stairs. Then he leaned back against the wall, looking for all the world, as terrified and exhausted as she felt.  
  
Only then did he speak, his voice husky and trembling with some suppressed emotion.  
  
"Hermione, I'm sorry."  
  
* * *  
  
It was five to seven. Ron and Harry were sitting in the common room, in the comfy chairs in front of the fire. Ron, inexplicably, kept looking at the clock. What's he waiting for?  
  
Professor McGonagall had been in an expressly forbidden the both of them to go looking for Hermione, telling them that the matter was being handled and putting themselves in danger was not going to help anyone. She had virtually ordered the whole common room to keep them in view at all times and had told Harry that Hagrid would be in the Entrance hall to pick him up for their detention.  
  
When asked if either had any clue as to her whereabouts, Harry did not even have to bite his tongue to keep his confession inside.  
  
Ah, yes, he thought. I told everyone that my detention was at seven. Clever, really, that.  
  
"Oh, well, I go and get my cloak, head down to meet Hagrid, and then his charges." Harry announced cheerily, ostentatiously to Ron, but loud enough for all the common room to hear. "See you, Ron"  
  
With which he left to collect his cloak, inside which the invisibility cloak was neatly folded. Tossing it over his arm, he strolled casually across the common room and out through the portrait hole, and walked in the direction of the astronomy tower as quickly as his need for stealth and silence would allow.  
  
Half way up the spiral staircase he'd heard Hermione's stifled cry, and the scramble of her feet as she presumably made a bid to escape. Reaching the top of the stairs he waited until she arrived, and then revealed himself, and moved around her so that she would not feel overly threatened. He wanted to make peace, not frighten her even more; he realised he would have to handle this with caution, right before all semblance of calm and composure deserted him at the sight of her terrified, bruised face, and rigid unbreathing posture.  
  
Then he did the only thing he could think to do.  
  
He apologised.  
  
She looked at him for a moment, then at the stairs. Then her knees gave way.  
  
Harry restrained every urge he had to catch her, chivalry tempered with the knowledge that the last thing she would want was for him to touch her. So he let her fall to a sitting position.  
  
Mirroring her he slid down the wall to crouch.  
  
"I know it's nowhere near enough. And I don't expect you to forgive me, or even trust me. But you can't stay here forever. Come with me to the infirmary." At this she braced, shying away. "Tell Dumbledore everything, or I will, if you can't bear to relive it so soon. Please come with me." He pleaded.  
  
The Voice of Self-Preservation was suppressed in his head.you're not going to confess, or you'd have done it already.you've done too much to quit now.you can still save yourself, frighten her into silence.  
  
"Come with me" he repeated, keeping his voice away from anything threatening or commanding.  
  
"No." Right now it looked like all he was going to coax out of her.  
  
"Okay. Will you go on your own? If I leave? Go and get Madame Pomfrey?"  
  
"No." Faced with his penitence, the old Hermione was slowly returning. "I don't want anyone to know. I can't face it."  
  
Relief was ruthlessly suppressed. Too soon to hope for a way out.  
  
"You need to be treated"  
  
"You can do it. I know you can." A pause "and if we tell Dumbledore, you'll be expelled and then Voldemort will kill you for sure."  
  
Silence from Harry. This was not going as expected.  
  
"Not that you don't deserve it. And don't get me wrong, I don't care one way or another."  
  
The old steel was returning to her voice, mixed with what was sounding more and more like contempt, like her confidence was returning faced with Harry's silence and humility.  
  
".but you have to save the world, unlikely hero (virtually spat) as you may be, and I intend to have a full life, so you need to stay right where you are for now."  
  
Had she finished?  
  
"So you want me to heal you?" Harry asked cautiously, gently.  
  
"Yes. Just don't touch me."  
  
Taking out his wand, Harry noted that Hermione tensed immediately as he pointed it at her, concluding the surety and confidence was only skin deep, if that. Not that he was in any place to blame her.  
  
"Speculum injuriam". A misty, silvery form that was unmistakably a three- dimensional mirror image of the seated Hermione. Harry fussed for a moment over the insubstantial form, working through the areas of deep blue in the silver that denoted an injury on the real Hermione. When the image finally shone pure silver Harry pointed his wand at it again and muttered "levo disiunctio", and the silver form settled over Hermione, spreading warm throughout her body as it superimposed its healthy state over her injured one, until all the wounds and bruises were gone.  
  
* * * The whole process took about ten minutes and used a good deal of Harry's power, which was probably alerted Voldemort to the situation unfurling. This looked remarkably like a reconciliation. Not what was planned for. Not at all.  
  
Subtly he slipped the tendrils of control into Potter's mind and bided his time.  
  
* * *  
  
When the silvery image finally faded, denoting the healing was complete, Hermione rose to her feet.  
  
"This stays between us. But it is the last thing we do together. I'm not going to blackmail you, but I expect you to have enough decency left to respect my wishes. I won't fight you for Ron, I expect I'd loose."  
  
She turned to go. Then stopped. With her back turned, she whispered the question that had been haunting her all day:  
  
"Did you plan it?"  
  
Harry started to shake his head, then realising she couldn't see him, hesitated, struggling to find the right words, which was all the opportunity Voldemort needed to take over.  
  
Stepping forward, Harry placed his hand on her shoulder as if in a dream, whilst using the other hand to gently caress the back of her neck. Then and only then he whispered in her ear, "it wouldn't have hurt so much if you hadn't have struggled"  
  
The touch and the sound sent shivers down her spine and lent wings to her feet. With a choked sob she wrenched free and hurtled down the stairs, reaching the bottom, turning randomly, unaware of her surroundings until she bumped into something solid and fell.  
  
It turn out to be Professor Snape.  
  
She looked up lost for words. He looked down, taking a moment to register what he saw, but once the realisation settled of what the cause of that wild, traumatised look in her eyes was, it was unshakable. Merlin knew he saw it enough.  
  
Voice carefully neutral, he phrased the question as simply as he could;  
  
"Miss Granger, who raped you?  
  
  
  
A/N  
  
Okay. another depressing chapter.action coming up in the next 'Levo disiunctio' means remove separation literally, again Latin 'speculum injuriam' means mirror of injuries only wish I could actually do magic. I'd be crazily inventive.  
  
Hope you like  
  
Kudos or flame.I just want to know  
  
Bye - photis 


	5. The Bargain

Disclaimer: see author's notes  
  
Chapter 3: The Bargain  
  
When she didn't reply, her features a mask of horror, Snape felt his assumption had been justified.  
  
"Miss Granger? Is that what happened?"  
  
She began to shake her head slowly, and until he deciphered the words she was muttering, Snape began to hope that she had been spared the ultimate violation, before the hope was crushed.  
  
"No, no, no. . . I can't. . . no, no. . . this isn't happening. . . how did YOU KNOW!" this last was screamed at him, her voice slowly rising to an hysterical pitch.  
  
Pulling herself to her feet, the young woman in front of him briefly caught his eyes, before choking out;  
  
"I can't stand everyone to know. I can't deal with this. I won't."  
  
And as Snape recognised the self-destructive rage that swept over her, Hermione turned on her heal and fled, heading without a doubt for the Astronomy Tower, and the long jump into oblivion. He was sure, for he recognised that part of her with the aspect of himself that led him up to the turret himself on occasion to contemplate jumping, even though magic restrained him from actually going through with it.  
  
Reaching the top of the tower, breathless and sweating, Snape saw that she was already on the ledge.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing!!"  
  
She said nothing. But she wasn't moving. She doesn't want sympathy. She has her pride.  
  
"You can't nearly knock me off my feet and then shout at me and then run off without even so much as an explanation! Miss Granger?"  
  
Seemingly despite herself she turned around partially and answered, using ironically enough the sarcasm he had always used to keep the world at bay;  
  
"Just taking a short walk of a long cliff. Nothing for you to concern yourself with - one less Gryffindor to taunt, though - so maybe you will feel the loss after all."  
  
A thread to lead him away from the minotaur - keep cool now. Don't drive her away now.  
  
"Fine. But take me with you."  
  
That stopped her. She stared at him with her mouth ever so slightly open, before she remembered herself and closed it.  
  
Snape looked her directly in the eye. This is you chance Severus. Don't blow it.  
  
"You're serious."  
  
"Deadly."  
  
A ghost of a laugh escaped her at the terrible pun. So, she wasn't too far gone after all. Still, the situation held potential.  
  
"Well. . . if you want to die so badly. . . why don't you jump?"  
  
Still standing on the ledge, but fully turned around now. Interested. Curious.  
  
"Have you ever heard of the Promissum Charm?" A silent shake of the head "It is a little known bit of magic that binds a person to a promise that they make. In my case, Dumbledore had me swear that I wouldn't commit suicide. So I am physically incapable of jumping."  
  
"Then I couldn't take you over anyway."  
  
He had her now - hooked on the puzzle, unwilling to let go before every last bit of knowledge was wrested from the new source.  
  
"Yes, you could, because you would effectively be pushing me against my will. The charm only prevents my action, not persuading anyone else to help me along. I had rather hoped Voldemort would oblige, but he seems to enjoy making me suffer too much."  
  
Her brows had furrowed. This meant a big question for sure.  
  
"Wouldn't that make me a murderess?"  
  
A thunderbolt from the blue. Count on Granger.  
  
"No. It would make you an angel of mercy."  
  
Unspoken: Lend me your rod and staff  
  
They just looked at each other. Eventually, Hermione moved to sit down on the ledge.  
  
Finally, she muttered "I'm sorry".  
  
He shook his head sadly. "No need. I wouldn't expect any less from a Gryffindor, after all. So, do you still want to die?"  
  
Snape joined Hermione on the ledge, as she pondered. Too busy on the big question to even notice the perceived insult. Or maybe only a Gryffindor would see it that way. "No."  
  
"Good. It would be an awful waste (at this her head snapped up, but he continues anyway), to big a sacrifice for the scum who did this to you. I don't suppose you're going to tell me who (a shake of her head), well never mind, the more important question is, if you don't want to die, what do you want?"  
  
Again, a pause. Using the sharp edge of the twin bladed Slytherin Sword - enticement. No need to use the duller edge of coercion. Yet.  
  
"I want my life back."  
  
Delicate strokes. Use the broadsword like a poniard. Little cuts.  
  
"I can help you Hermione, if you want my help, that is. I have some experience in. . . well. . . the darker side of the soul, and I know of a few roads back."  
  
Even if they are the Road Less Travelled. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I stood there looking at the path to salvation and the wider road to damnation. Eighteen years later I'm still at the juncture, breaking down under the pressure of indecision.  
  
He called me Hermione. He thinks it'd be a waste if I died. He wants to help me. He wants me to kill him.  
  
"Is that a selfless offer of help from a Slytherin?" Just a hint of mockery to her voice.  
  
"No Miss Granger, it isn't, and you know it."  
  
He wants me to murder him. Say it, because we both know it.  
  
"Tell me why you want to die so badly. Being bored of life and spying and pain don't cut it, you know." The life was back in her voice now, she was already on the road back.  
  
"I carried out numerous atrocities as a Death Eater. And I was never punished because I was more useful as a double agent. But nothing I can do can ever make amends. I'm supposed to be content with being a bastard, so long as I'm a useful one."  
  
Shocked silence. Not far enough on the road back, then, you need to explain Severus. Don't blow it now.  
  
"Someone once told me that when we get knocked down, especially in a conflict that involves fatalities, it is our duty to get up and carry on. Staying down allows the aggressor to win, and is not a mark of respect to the fallen." A pause as he dragged his thoughts together.  
  
Talk faster. She's slipping away from you.  
  
"I took the lives of so many people that deserved to live, and now that I deserve to die, I have to live, listening to the screams of the fallen with every breath I take. You think I'm trying to escape my punishment." His tone said it was a statement not a question. "But whatever better place you believe in, I'm not on the way there. I just want to end this, and make the imbalance right. This is my mark of respect."  
  
Please let her understand. Nothing else is beyond her comprehension. And I Don't have the energy to start work with the Duller Edge.  
  
Still silence. Were those tears in her eyes? Did it work?  
  
Is the end on its way?  
  
Slowly, oh so slowly, she reached out her hand, towards him.  
  
"Professor Snape, it's a deal."  
  
The tears were running freely down her cheeks now.  
  
What have you done, Hermione? Cries her Voice of Caution.  
  
Silence inside and out. Tears for herself as much as for him.  
  
"Thank you. Now we ought to go down and tell the other teachers you've turned up like a bad penny."  
  
He smiled slightly to indicate it was a joke, but she once again looked horrified.  
  
"You won't tell them what happened will you? Please don't." she gazed at him imploringly.  
  
"You will have to face the real world again some time, you know. But no, not tonight, and I will have to inform the Headmaster."  
  
She nodded her assent almost immediately, and got up. They left the tower side by side, bound by an unlikely covenant.  
  
* * *  
  
From the corner of the turret, under his invisibility cloak, Harry let out the breath he'd been holding for Merlin knows how long.  
  
That was surreal.  
  
And a relief.  
  
He was a safe for now.  
  
Looking at his watch, he discovered it was ten to eight.  
  
He'd have to run, not to be too late for his detention.  
  
No use acting suspicious after he'd been handed this glorious second chance.  
  
* * *  
  
Entering the corridor, Snape turned and began steering Hermione towards his private rooms in the dungeon.  
  
And promptly ran into Minerva McGonagall.  
  
Just great.  
  
McGonagall for her part flew towards Hermione, as if to hug her, before pulling herself up short and opening with an irritated;  
  
"Where have you been, Miss Granger? The whole faculty has been looking for you."  
  
Hermione opened her mouth uncertainly, looking vulnerable, and Snape felt the sudden urge to step in and protect her from McGonagall's ill-timed interrogation.  
  
"Miss Granger has been filling me in on the details of today's events. Suffice to say that she is here now. Minerva, I would appreciate it if you would inform the Headmaster of this turn of events, so he can call off the search. I will be in my rooms, where I will continue this discussion with Miss Granger, and will not profit from being disturbed until the morning."  
  
With that he turned on his heel to begin herding Hermione towards the dungeons once again.  
  
Why do I always expect him to click his heels together three times when he does that? Back to reality, Minerva - time to rescue your student.  
  
"Is that alright with you, Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked disbelievingly.  
  
Hermione summoned up a suitably fervent "Yes, Professor" noting with surprise McGonagall's acceptance of Snape's orders, despite him being her junior.  
  
Just went to show that any order delivered with enough confidence would be obey without question.  
  
Useful tip that really.  
  
Minerva watched the unusual couple walk away with a slightly bemused expression on her face, before heading toward the Headmaster's office.  
  
Wonders truly never did cease.  
  
A/N:  
  
A couple of references to other literary works in this chapter  
  
The rod and staff is from Psalm 23  
  
The Road Less Travelled is a perversion of Robert Frost's poem by the same title.  
  
The reference to not giving death to those deserving of it until you can give life to those deserving life - ie the idea of balance - is from J.R.R Tolkein, said by Gandalf in the Fellowship of the Ring  
  
'A bastard, but a useful bastard' is from Sphinx's 'letter from exile one merciful morning' (on ff.net) I'd recommend it when you're done here.  
  
So, should I keep writing? Does anyone want to know whether Hermione goes through with it, or if Snape lets her.  
  
Tell me if I should bother to carry on.  
  
Photis. 


	6. Phraseology

Disclaimer: see author's notes  
  
A/N  
  
I feel I should explain a little about this chapter - credit to my bad writing, not your ability to comprehend, you understand. Snape's monologue is inside his head, and starred in the text. The brackets after Hermione's speech are what she would like to say, but doesn't as she is really a well- raised little girl. But as you will see, Snape gets the gist of what she wants to say as well.  
  
Chapter 4: Phraseology  
  
The entrance to Snape's Rooms turned out to be a concealed door in his office. A cursory flick of his wand accompanied by 'dehisco' opened a wide gothic arch in a previously bare patch of wall, beneath which a set of black double doors were secured with a locking charm.  
  
Before opening the door, Snape paused, to ask; "Is this okay? We can stay in my office, if you'd like, but my rooms at least have two comfortable chairs."  
  
*Don't push her too far - she can still run, remember.*  
  
*If you can keep your head when all about you are loosing theirs . . .*  
  
However as Snape's internal monologue started up on a poetic and cultured riff that might normally have appealed to Hermione, her answers became more curt and to the point.  
  
"It's fine." (I was raped in a corridor not on a bed) "I trust you."  
  
*If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you . . .*  
  
"Okay then, come in."  
  
*But make allowance for their doubting too . . .*  
  
"Hermione, if at any point you feel uncomfortable, or want to leave, you must tell me. Contrary to popular belief I'm not a mind reader. And we are going to be talking about some unpleasant issues tonight."  
  
(Unpleasant! Is that your considered and final appreciation of this situation! Insensitive bastard. I'm not telling you anything.) "You can't read minds? Really?"  
  
A deft change of subject, considering. But he felt the anger surge through her regardless of the level nature of her reply.  
  
*If you can wait and not be tired by waiting*  
  
No, I'm empathic, not a telepath. I feel thoughts rather than hear them verbatim."  
  
"Everyone thinks that you read minds - that's how you always catch us out" (and know exactly what to say to hurt the most)  
  
*Or being lied about, don't deal in lies. Not anymore anyway*  
  
"Eighteen years of teaching hones the senses to guilt and dishonesty fairly acutely. I can sense someone lying about their homework in the North Tower on a clear day."  
  
"Makes sense, I suppose" (that's how you can skulk in your dungeon - the world comes to you whether you like it or not.)  
  
*Being hated, don't give way to hating*  
  
"But we're not here to talk about me, are we, Miss Granger?"  
  
"No." (I'm here to let you help me. And make up your mind - am I Miss Granger or Hermione.)  
  
"Which would you prefer?"  
  
The incredulity on her face, even after all he had told her, was vaguely amusing. It would take her a good while before she gauged the true depths of his power . . . the longer the better.  
  
*Don't look to good, nor talk too wise. First part's easy enough*  
  
"Hermione." (That way, I can pretend you care, and you're not just using me)  
  
"You know, you can back out on the deal any time you like -"  
  
*If you can dream and not make dreams your master*  
  
"- you must have realised that even if Voldemort didn't oblige in ending my existence, that I have enough enemies, to find myself in a situation involving certain death -"  
  
*If you can think and not make thoughts your master*  
  
"Then why not -"  
  
" - but somehow allowing myself to be killed by adversary inferior to myself, who would have had all the chance of a snowball in hell if I fought back, grates on my pride. I am a Slytherin after all."  
  
"I see." (I really do. I hope you believe me)  
  
"So we've talked out my problems - however I think yours are more pressing."  
  
"Yes"  
  
"Perhaps you should begin with where you have spent all of today."  
  
"In the astronomy tower."  
  
"Indeed. Planning another short walk?"  
  
"No. That's where - um, I mean - well that's . . ."  
  
"Try and speak in coherent sentences. Your voluminous essays suggest you are more than capable of it."  
  
*Yes, she's bristling again. My sarcasm seems to give her the strength to fight. Say the words, but keep them clean of contempt. She doesn't deserve that from you. She's doing better than any of the others Voldemort had you crush the spirits of.*  
  
"That's where I was attacked, Professor (the honorific spat in order to devalue it). I just stayed put."  
  
"I see. Is there an explanation as to why you show no signs of injury?"  
  
"They've been healed."  
  
"You healed yourself - your powers are seemingly growing." Hold the sarcasm down, there's such a thing as too much of a good thing.  
  
"I asked . . . Harry . . . to do it for me."  
  
"Right. I presume he knows the details, then?"  
  
Hermione forced herself to swallow. Snape noticed.  
  
"Yes"  
  
A pause. Pieces clicking into place - Potter out all night under his invisibility cloak - returning to Gryffindor tower looking troubled early in the morning -  
  
"Did you ask Mr Potter for his help, or did he come to offer it?"  
  
"He came and found me." (If you know just come out and say it)  
  
"When was this? Just before you ran into me?"  
  
"Er . . . yeah." (Stop playing games with me)  
  
The final pieces of the puzzle slotted in place to form a gruesome whole. Potter had raped Hermione and even now she was protecting him.  
  
"So from whom were you running?"  
  
"Er . . . no-one." (Christ, I should have got more practice at lying. How am I supposed to outsmart a Slytherin?)  
  
"Indeed. I have always maintained that the vaunted Gryffindor loyalty was nothing but fool-hardiness, you know. However, you are too mature an individual for me to disregard you choices summarily. If you wish to protect him, that is your choice."  
  
And in the absence of other noise, silence reigns.  
  
* * *  
  
Despite his injunctions to himself to wait and let the situation unfold, Voldemort was itching to interfere.  
  
The part of himself, his essence, that had been transferred to Potter as a child that ill-fated night, that gave him the gift of Parselmouth, was tingling right now.  
  
He always became more aware of it when Potter was uncertain and insecure, wondering what to do - that was the time at which the spark that was Tom Riddle and not Harry Potter flared up, temporarily blinding the senses and awareness of The Boy Who Lived.  
  
And Potter was certainly unsure about what had transpired between Snape and Granger on that ledge.  
  
There had always been that vague sense of connection between the two during Voldemort's long purgatory, but Potter had invariably benefited more from the warnings it provided, rather than suffering. Now the tables were turned, the protection of the ancient magic from his mother removed, and Voldemort was returned to his former strength.  
  
He intended to take full advantage.  
  
However, aside from waiting for the inevitable fallout in the Gryffindor enclave, and taking care to prevent Potter confessing and repenting - repercussions would be greater should he be uncovered in his crime - there was little more to be done.  
  
Voldemort did not like waiting. He had waited sixteen years too long, to avoid playing games with his hapless victim.  
  
He was not happy.  
  
His eyes fell on Pettigrew huddling in the corner. A little mindless violence would prove a pleasant diversion.  
  
Raising his wand he aimed it, drinking in the grovelling cries for mercy from his insipid servant.  
  
"Crucio"  
  
Screams sliced through the calm of the night air.  
  
* * *  
  
Back in Snape's rooms, Hermione seemed lost for words.  
  
The last question he asked had brought home the enormity of the situation to her. Its implications for the rest of her life.  
  
Yes, she had been a virgin this time yesterday.  
  
And he had taken that from her - defiled her - taken the precious gift she had intended for another from her, when all she had given permission for was a chaste kiss.  
  
Whoever she chose to be with in the future, she would come into the relationship without a vital part of herself, through no fault of her own.  
  
And it was all Harry's fault.  
  
That was if she could bear for anyone to touch her again. She still remembered her wild flight out of the tower at the slightest touch.  
  
Will you ever be able to trust anyone again?  
  
But you're trusting Snape, aren't you? First wishing you were in his lesson, and then wanting to be rescued by him. So he saves you from yourself and you trust him?  
  
That was the truth though. His calm confidence in himself and his opinions was a comforting presence. And when he kept the malice and derision out of his tone, his sarcasm reminded her to fight. That she was still alive, and would live how she pleased.  
  
Right now, he was the only person she trusted, including herself.  
  
And he wants you to kill him.  
  
No, that was not what he said - he wanted an angel of mercy.  
  
Fine, he'd get one. But she needn't kill him to relive him of his suffering. That would be her purpose in life until she could start to see the bigger picture again, and move on.  
  
Eventually, she found her voice, along with her reason to live;  
  
"Yes, I was a virgin."  
  
"Then, why don't you want him punished?"  
  
"I have my reasons."  
  
"Care to share them?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You have to make me understand or I can't guarantee that I'll be able to continue to view you as a mature adult."  
  
I can't believe he's doing this - two hours discovering a sensitive and insightful man under the deceptive exterior, and now he threatens me. I won't stand for it.  
  
That's a good response. I'm fighting again.  
  
"Don't presume to threaten me. You'll have a hard time proving anything without my testimony."  
  
"Very clever of you, Hermione."  
  
"And don't patronise me!" The pitch of her voice was rising.  
  
"I just want to help you."  
  
"No, you want to talk me into killing you." I don't care how hurt he looks, he deserved that. Time to stand up.  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"Back to my room before you insult me any further. You said I could leave any time I liked. Now I'm going."  
  
"Okay, let me walk you back to the Portrait Hole."  
  
"No thanks. It's not like there's much worse that can happen to me now."  
  
And with that she turned and walked out, grateful he removed the locking charm on the main doors before he got there. Her wand, she realised with a jolt was still in her room. She'd just spent nearly three hours in the company of Snape . . . a man . . . without a wand.  
  
At that thought, most of her remaining anger faded to wonder. If she hadn't possessed pride in equal measure to Snape, she would have sat back down, and continued what had been an enthralling conversation.  
  
Instead she walked away with the grim knowledge that saving Severus Snape might not be an easy task, but it was certainly a necessary one. He had too much going for him to die now.  
  
What!?  
  
Where did that last thought come from?  
  
But it made her smile anyway, as she heard the faint padding of footsteps behind her, as an invisible Snape tailed her back to the Portrait of the Fat Lady anyhow.  
  
And with the smile came the realisation that everything was going to turn out all right in the end.  
  
A/N:  
  
Okay the poem forming most of Snape's monologue is based around Kipling's 'If'.  
  
'Dehisco' is the Latin verb to gape open - apt for a gothic arch, I always think.  
  
Anyway, thank you for all your reviews, hope the new chapters meet with your approval.  
  
Enfleurage - no I don't particularly like the wife thing either - I don't think he would ever get married - but I am working within the confines of liquidsilver's story. Same goes for the jeans, out of respect to her. I might re-write the first chapter and scrap this bit eventually.  
  
Don't worry - I like Snape enchantingly nasty. That's why I made Hermione respond well to his scathing nature - more fun that way. She's not the type to be a victim.  
  
And don't worry - Harry won't get away with it, although letting him think he has may become a necessary evil . . . say no more for fear of spoilers. As for Voldemort killing Snape - well it's always a possibility.  
  
EmmyWood - I will try to give you some satisfaction on the Cho fixation, and no, it is not certain that Hermione will kill Snape, as this chapter attempts to show. What I am trying to convey is that snape wants to die on his terms, i.e. suicide, but does not have the means, so wants someone to follow his instructions to the letter, so he does not feel powerless in death. Hope that helps.  
  
MysticJedi (cool name), RebelR, harrypotter-chik, Ibex's Lyre, CynthiaWeasley - thanks all for the vote of confidence.  
  
I am always open to suggestion and requests - and I love to hear your comments!!  
  
Love - Photis 


	7. Letters from the soul

A/N  
  
Okay, new chapter, starting with a note to say that the previous ones have been altered slightly. The author's note has also changed a bit.  
  
After doing a rewrite on the story possession I have uploaded it as a prologue to this story - some important details have changed, like Hermione being in the seventh year, and 18, and Snape never having had a wife. I really didn't like that idea (sorry, liquidsilver) as I want him all to myself.  
  
There are superficial changes to 'Unravelling' and 'Phraseology', that are more continuity details than anything else. Snape's reasons for wanting to die have changed totally in 'The Bargain' needs a re-read or you will be lost and 'Cloud-Burst' is unchanged.  
  
Right, back to the story. I suppose I ought to explain the cheerier outlook on today being results day, and me now officially going to university. The depressed angst will be back soon I guess.  
  
Love to everyone - for today at least. Photis.  
  
Chapter 5: Letters from the Soul.  
  
By the time, Hermione entered the Gryffindor common room, it was virtually empty, and she crossed to the girls' staircase without having to answer any awkward questions.  
  
Ron, it seemed, had given up his vigil and gone to bed with the rest of the boys in his dormitory when Harry had returned from his detention. She had been right in her assessment of where his loyalties would lie if he were pushed to choose.  
  
Ron was behaving as predictably as usual.  
  
Harry, however was not, and therein lay the problem.  
  
Upon reaching her own room, Hermione retired to the solitude it afforded and allowed her analytical mind to take over, once she was sure she had double locked the door behind her.  
  
Despite what Trelawny had said about her in their third year, Hermione had developed a strong sense of perception where other people were concerned. Had she not been a witch it would have probably been called intuition, but recently it had taken a more visual form. Perhaps it had come from a life of standing outside the group looking in, trying to discern what was going on, and developed by an understanding gleaned from the Restricted Section.  
  
But wherever it had come from, the fact remained that Hermione was able to see the energy flowing through every person she came into contact with, the normally soft glow that formed their chi as it was known in martial arts, their inner strength in pop-psychology.  
  
It was generally stronger in magical people, but still visible in Muggles, and the likes of Dumbledore were virtually blinding. Snape was fairly bright too, come to mention it.  
  
It provided her a useful insight into other people's motivations - it flowed freely when they acted voluntarily and with confidence. It uncovered lies and deceptions for her unerringly. Hermione rarely got caught out in a faux pas of wizarding society, despite her Muggle parentage, these days.  
  
Tonight, though, it was Harry's chi that was bothering her. It was wildly fluctuating for the most part, showing only tiny flickers here and there that marked out that anything suspicious was going on. Up to now she'd ignored them as meaningless.  
  
Fool, look where that got you. Never assume.  
  
But both times in the tower, the tiny flickers had become raging infernos that had fractured Harry's chi into disjointed pieces.  
  
And Hermione had a good idea what - or more precisely - who was causing the fissures.  
  
She just needed to prove it, understand it. And then figure out a way to use it to her advantage.  
  
Lucky she was in a position to cross-examine the resident authority on Voldemort and emotional turmoil. And what was his phrase? The darker side of the character.  
  
She just needed to kick of with an apology. And an opening gambit.  
  
Her mind began to click through infinite combinations of the variables, trying to assess the practicality and likelihood of success of each one before moving on.  
  
This was what she did best - self pity wasn't really an indulgence she allowed herself.  
  
After an indefinite passage of time she drifted into a deep and exhausted sleep. There was the glimmering of a plan forming, just outside the range of her vision. Like all the best plans, she just let it develop unhindered and unobserved.  
  
Once she was sure it was a plan that involved Snape wanting to see her again, that was.  
  
* * *  
  
Breakfast had been an unremarkable affair. Harry was not there. Ron avoided her eyes. She wondered what had been said.  
  
What Harry had made up.  
  
Neither was professor Snape there to receive the letter she had spent a good deal of the early morning, when woken by disturbing dreams, composing. She even found writing to him therapeutic.  
  
So after a hurried but by no means meagre breakfast - she had a raison d'être, now and starving herself or pinning over her plate, playing with food was unproductive - she headed back up to the common room. Care of Magical Creatures had been cancelled - courtesy she presumed to Harry's detention.  
  
This assumption was confirmed as the boy himself walked through the portrait hole to the applause of his fellow seventh years who had a free lesson due to him. Apparently the story had been paraded out last night on his return.  
  
The Quiffers - Hagrid's new acquisitions - were apparently cute and cuddly until faced with bushy hair and fluff - upon which provocation they attacked and attempted to drag the offending article back for nest building.  
  
Hagrid had been keeping his own hair slicked back with axel greased and encased under a headscarf that could double as a tent, and making sure that fang stayed inside when the Quiffers came out. However he neglected to consider just how offensive the Quiffers would find Harry's untidy locks, and Harry had been luck not to loose an eye.  
  
In the ensuing confusion, several of the Quiffers had made a bid for freedom, and although one had been located (unfortunately) before decimating Mrs Norris, quite a few needed to be found, before they found Dumbledore's beard.  
  
Hence Hagrid being otherwise occupied. And the applause.  
  
For the first time, the simple ease with which Harry found himself at the centre of the drama, and looking good in it, really bothered Hermione.  
  
This, she decided was a suitably large audience. With Lavender and Pavarati in attendance, the news would have reached Outer Mongolia by lunchtime. Catching Harry's eye she moved pointedly to a seat with another free chair beside it, and sat down.  
  
On cue, Harry sidled over.  
  
Let him start, she thought, I've made the opening move.  
  
And he did, his voice lowered to a level that would be inaudible even a few paces away.  
  
"Hermione I wanted to say I was sorry again. I know it seems like I'm always apologising, but I don't know what came over me in the tower, the second time. Or the first time, come to think of it." *No you don't, but I do.*  
  
"And I wanted to say that I realise you don't want to be anywhere near me - now or ever - but - "  
  
"But what are we going to do about a friendship that has suddenly ceased to exist at the same time as I go missing for a day?"  
  
"Yeah"  
  
"Well, first up, your going to laugh like you've just made a joke on how endangered by Quiffers my hair is, and then you're going to follow my lead and play along."  
  
She stares at him, daring him to disagree. He nods his head meekly. And begins to chuckle softly.  
  
"I don't think that's funny." Hermione's voice was clear and firm.  
  
"Oh, have a sense of humour for once. Of course it's funny."  
  
"No, it's not. In fact it's the kind of comment I would expect from Malfoy, not you." Pitch rising slightly.  
  
A shrug of Harry's shoulders.  
  
"I suppose even Malfoy can speak the truth on occasions."  
  
"That wasn't the truth - it was an INSULT!"  
  
Another shrug, and that boyish grin that was really ignoring her.  
  
"So that's it" Witness Hermione's attempt to reign in her temper.  
  
Silence  
  
"You're taking this too seriously. Try and be reasonable."  
  
"Since when did you value reason? You're the one that sneaks everywhere under your invisibility cloak and has to be the centre of every adventure and everyone else's attention." Witness her failure at temper management, as she begins to shout.  
  
"I valued reason since it got me out of pointless arguments."  
  
Ow. That hurt. That really hurt - I don't care if we're playing. And he's too calm. And the seams of those fractures are showing in his chi. Time to wrap it up.  
  
"So my opinions are pointless now?"  
  
"That was what I said. Go figure."  
  
"FINE. SEE IF I CARE" with which she flounced off towards the dormitory.  
  
A little childish, but then so was not talking to him over a petty row. Childish was good. Childish was necessary.  
  
She slammed the door to her room.  
  
Sinking down onto his bed, she sat a moment in silence. Then and only then, she allowed herself to cry.  
  
* * *  
  
Meanwhile Snape was in his rooms, reading and rereading her letter, trying to draft an appropriate reply.  
  
The words of need, desperation, self-hatred he wanted to write kept loosing their bite to irrelevant expressions of affection for his Angel of Mercy.  
  
Best they stayed where they were. He had no claim on her. She may be an angel, but he had no right to call her his angel.  
  
Instead, he read the letter again, as students moved around him, copying notes and whispering. He had given them something even Longbottom would be able to do unsupervised, to allow him to divert his attention elsewhere.  
  
Dear Professor Snape (said the letter, in elegant script)  
  
I suppose first and foremost I ought to apologise for my anger and reticence last night - and all the other emotions you undoubtedly picked up off me. I was on something of a roller-coaster. I know that you really were, and are, trying to help me, regardless of what you might stand to gain from the situation.  
  
I had no right to judge you so harshly, and I have a confession to make. Last night on the ledge, when I first stepped up I had every intention of jumping. Then I waited for you to follow me, so that you could either witness my final moments or save me from them. I wanted to know that someone cared. It had taken nearly twenty-four hours for a search to be mounted, despite the supposedly dangerous times. I suppose you are used to burying your (and I mean that collectively) pupils by now.  
  
I could have been dead before anyone noticed that I was gone. That realisation hurt. I needed an ego-boost. Thank you for providing it.  
  
However, intentionally I suspect, you provided me with more than that, you gave me a diversion, and a puzzle, which I could not resist. I don't think you meant to give me a purpose, but you did.  
  
I wish I could have explained this to you last night, but I was so entangled in not saying anything I'd come to regret, words didn't seem to come out right. You seemed to have a high opinion of my essays - so I decided on this route instead. I don't think I'd have the strength to say all this to your face - one insightful question and I'd crumble. Writing is easier.  
  
Committing words to paper, for someone in my position, who has a secret to keep, might not seem the best of ideas. But I trust you. When you said you respected me and my decisions, I believed you.  
  
I don't think I could endure another betrayal. If there is a chance of you using this letter against me, burn it when a mood of conscientiousness or remorse takes you. I leave the decision to your discretion.  
  
And after that somewhat unwieldy introduction, I'll get to the point. I think I have an explanation as to events that relies less heavily on a sudden degeneration of Harry's morals and character than you seem to favour. I'd like to run it past you so you can tell be if I'm making up a fairy story, just because I want to believe it.  
  
It is perhaps more than even Gryffindor naivety can allow to put the details in this letter. Is there a chance we can meet again? To discuss the idea I mentioned, of course.  
  
Regards,  
  
Hermione Granger.  
  
* * *  
  
Take you courage in both hands, Severus. Say she can see you any time she likes, regardless of what's going on in her mind.  
  
No. Resort to the acerbic and distant style that has kept you safe thus far.  
  
Miss Granger  
  
You are required to serve detention for your absence in my class yesterday afternoon. There is a eyesight-improving potion to concoct. Should any time remain I would be amenable to hear any thoughts you have on other matters.  
  
Your attendance will be required at 8pm, this evening in the potions classroom.  
  
Professor S. Snape 


	8. Caritas

Chapter 6: Caritas  
  
It was ten to eight, and Hermione was ready.  
  
After a morning spent planning, then arguing, then weeping unashamedly, and an afternoon of History of Magic, she was finally ready to do the final check;  
  
Potions textbook, ingredients and notes? - check  
  
Notebook? - check  
  
Decent hairstyle and subtle makeup? - For sure, not that it mattered though  
  
Sensible shoes? - don't own any that aren't  
  
Sanity? - working on it.  
  
Conclusion? - Time for your detention with a teacher that two days ago you hated.  
  
Picking up her bag, and with a final glance in the mirror, Hermione left her room, walked across the common room pointedly ignoring the artificial hush that was created, exchanged greetings with the Fat Lady, and headed down to the dungeons.  
  
* * *  
  
Voldemort was also ready, although a little earlier than Hermione had been.  
  
Now he had discovered the cause of Snape's unusual resilience and 'will to live', he had a new game planned.  
  
A few nights ago he had been impatient for Snape to implode, for that self- control to crack, so he could have reason to kill Snape. Voldemort liked making examples.  
  
However it seemed that however hard he pushed Snape, suicide was not going to be an option. And he couldn't wait for that moralising Granger-girl to get on with things; not that he put it past her to find a way to thwart him even now - Gryffindors had such an interfering tendency.  
  
No, it was time for a change of tactics.  
  
This was why he had summoned Snape to his side tonight, while he was virtually alone. Only the closest few of his Death Eaters would witness tonight's show - not the usual clutch of sadists that made up the 'inner circle'.  
  
It was time for the prodigal son to come home.  
  
* * *  
  
Hence when Hermione entered the potions classroom a scarce few minutes before eight o'clock, the classroom had been empty. Settling herself down to wait, she filled her cauldron with water and set it boiling gently, keeping a close eye on the clock and the door. She was well aware of how noiseless Snape's movements could be when he wished.  
  
However, eight o'clock came and went and there was no sign of Snape, even when she knocked on his office door. It was only then that she noticed the uneven matt shimmer covering the board's surface. Tentatively, she pointed her wand at it and said 'Nudo'.  
  
Immediately letters in chalk appeared on the board - What is your name?  
  
"Hermione. Hermione Granger." No response. Try replying in kind.  
  
Picking up chalk of Professor Snape's desk, she wrote beneath the question the letters of her name.  
  
The writing flickered for a while, as though trying to ascertain her honesty, then faded to reveal a note, addressed to Hermione herself, in Snape's meticulous print.  
  
Hermione -  
  
I have been . . . called away at short notice.  
  
I may not return tonight.  
  
Please finish your potion and leave a labelled sample with your notes on my desk.  
  
I need not remind you of my standards of cleanliness.  
  
Professor S. Snape.  
  
So that's it - I'm here to talk about the most significant event in my life and you remind me to tidy up?  
  
No, don't be petty, look how he's written 'called away'. I don't suppose he can very well keep You-Know-Voldemort waiting now, can he.  
  
Could have been a bit nicer though.  
  
To quell the argument going on in her head, she began creating her eyesight- improving potion (not an overly difficult task), ruminating that trying to referee an argument going on inside your head was probably the beginnings of a split-personality disorder.  
  
And then before she knew it, she had tidied up, placed her notes and vial containing sample on his desk (potion sitting on the parchment sheets - it was his fault if he spilled it) and erased the letter from the board.  
  
Problem was, she'd run out of things to do instead of worry. She couldn't just go back to her room and forget about him. After all, he had come looking for her when she was in trouble.  
  
Turnabout was fair play.  
  
However, she didn't plan on marching up to Voldemort's side (if she knew how to find him) and demanding Snape back alive (if he'd thank her for the gesture). Instead she decided to wait for him. In his rooms.  
  
He'd probably be mad at her (if he was in any state when he got back), but Filch would turn her out of the classroom soon, and she didn't want to be accused of cheating if found in his office.  
  
Settling into the same chair she had sat in the previous night by the hearth - sitting in his chair, though it was more worn and comfortable looking seemed to be pushing it - she decided to say it was his fault for not changing his passwords.  
  
Perhaps it had been an unconscious desire on his part to allow her back in. Or even a conscious one. She could always hope.  
  
To fill the time, she began to gaze around her.  
  
Which was when she saw the bookshelves that made up his library.  
  
* * *  
  
When Snape apparated, after having walked down to the gates under his own invisibility cloak, he materialised in a room with no windows, that most definitely had the feeling of being underground.  
  
Is this it? he wondered. Is this where it ends for me?  
  
Voldemort could fix the apparition point of all his death eaters, so once the Dark Mark burned black, wherever they intended to apparate to, they went where Voldemort bade them to. And Snape had been directed to this dank dungeon.  
  
However, he was not locked in. Seemingly the location was just a ruse to unsettle him, as once his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he could see a dim light through the crack of a door left ajar. Yet even once the door was open he could discern little more from the shadows than vague outlines and shades of greyness.  
  
Briefly, he wished his eyesight were better, but thinking of that led him to thoughts of Hermione and the infinitely more pleasurable evening he could be spending with her. Not just because of the fact that she talked to him unaffectedly, with undeniable intelligence, once she discovered he could hold his own in any area of expertise - but because she had requested his company. The little ad endum to her letter he suspected came from clarifying to herself that she wanted to spend time with Snape because he was the one that knew her secret, not just because she wanted to be near him.  
  
And requests to stay rather than to leave were not something Snape heard often. He had savoured hers, until Voldemort had summoned him away with unerring timing. So now thinking of Hermione was just a little too painful.  
  
Instead of thinking he followed the corridor to see where, and to what, it would lead. To whom, seemed to be a forgone conclusion.  
  
It turned out that Snape was right when he found Voldemort in a well lit and suspiciously empty chamber at the end of the passageway. Only the elder Malfoy was present at Voldemort's side; and Pettigrew cringing in a corner, as usual.  
  
Curiouser, and curiouser.  
  
"Ah, Snape, you are finally here." Emphasis on the finally.  
  
"Yes my Lord."  
  
"As you can see there is no gathering, or women, here in your honour tonight" Deliberate slur on the word honour. "I trust you are not too disappointed."  
  
Statement not question.  
  
"No, my Lord."  
  
"Indeed not. I'm sure pickings are easy at that school - all those mudbloods - and so easy to control, no doubt."  
  
"I have to be careful right under Dumbledore's crooked nose."  
  
"Of course, Snape, can't having you jeopardising prime position, now can we." His tone had taken a definite turn for malicious now. "just some interesting rumours one hears about you and Granger. Is she any good?"  
  
He's trying to trap you. Think this through. What can he know?  
  
"Untrue, unfortunately."  
  
"Are you suggesting I lie?"  
  
"No, my Lord. But the rumours do."  
  
"I see." A pause. "Crucio."  
  
Snape's knees buckled immediately as he curled up into a foetal position on the floor trying to block out the excruciating pains that coursed through every part of his body. His lungs were constricting as he cried out, not letting any of the air he expelled screaming back in, and his bones felt like they were shifting positions within his body.  
  
Then, as all the sensations merged into an overwhelming whole that threatened to carry him into blackness, the pain was gone, leaving only the aching behind. Gasping, shaking, weak, Snape struggled to his feet because he knew it was what was expected of him.  
  
"So, what is the truth?"  
  
"Granger was attacked two nights ago. I was the one who found her when a faculty-wide search was ordered. She seems to have attached herself to my side in some misguided belief that I was her rescuer. When Dumbledore was informed of the situation he said that as she had attached herself to me, I should make no attempt to dissuade her until she felt she was ready to leave. My Lord." Almost and afterthought, but not quite.  
  
"And who was this attack by?"  
  
"As yet, she had refused to say, my Lord."  
  
"Will it affect her ability to supply Potter with the intellectual merit he lacks."  
  
"Yes, my Lord."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"She appears to have laid some of the blame for the attack with Potter, my Lord."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Stay quiet, Severus. Better to be thought and fool than speak and remove all doubt. If only Voldemort weren't so adept at hiding his own feelings, even from an empath, I wouldn't feel quite so stranded.  
  
"You are aware that Potter has to die before my revival can be complete. Yes I see that you are. I think perhaps it is time that we set plans in motion to bring it about. You will have a role to play I think. Tell me, how is Potter behaving?"  
  
"Distracted. He's taken to wandering the castle at night time, and acting out of character, my Lord."  
  
"Out of character?"  
  
"Not as his Gryffindor morals would normally dictate, my Lord." He carefully injected the sneer into his voice, although he didn't feel it.  
  
Voldemort just nodded, and for once a wisp of emotion leaked out - smug, self-satisfaction.  
  
Shocked, Snape had to force his mind back to the details that Voldemort was beginning to trot out. They were doubtless carefully engineered disinformation. Snape doubted he was truly back in Voldemort's good graces.  
  
He kept his mind carefully focused to ignore the rant in his head -  
  
*You bastard. You made Potter attack Hermione. Bastard. She's too good for playing your games . . .*  
  
Working on this focus, he only had to endure three more bouts of Cruciatus for being too slow to answer, or inexact in his comments.  
  
Shortly before one am he was finally allowed apparate away, and then began to stumble back towards the gates of the main entrance to Hogwarts.  
  
He headed straight for his rooms.  
  
* * *  
  
The bookshelves had kept Hermione occupied for a good while. There were naturally enough a good number of books on potions and their brewing, along with copious amounts of files containing papers on new developments in potions that had yet to make the Hogwarts syllabus.  
  
Fascinating as they were, it was the collections of non-academic books that really gripped her. She had stopped taking down the books without titles and authors on their spines just as soon as she ascertained that the lack of nomenclature was designed to hide the dark magic contained inside. Not that the magic itself was inherently dark - but the suggestions as to how the magic could be used, had begun to turn her stomach.  
  
She was amazed that Snape had a wide collection of fiction (Muggle and wizarding work) on his shelves. He appeared to favour classics and well- critiqued work. He had taste and she approved.  
  
However, tucked well back, she had found the last thing she ever expected to find - a copy of a 1611 King James I Bible. Things had been decidedly rocky between the Church and the wizarding world almost since its inception two millennia ago. Burning of suspected and actual witches had marked the low point. Although it was rare for a full, adult witch or wizard to be killed, children were another matter. The Flame-freezing charm was a terrifically complex one to master, and children exhibiting untrained magical ability before the age of eleven had been especially vulnerable.  
  
The numbers of Muggle-born students that could be lost from the first few years of Hogwarts during a summer holidays (there being no injunctions against underage wizardry back then) had been one of the main reasons sited by Salazar Slytherin to ban Muggle-borns from the school. Whether it was general concern or convenience that motivated him to do so was still a debated point.  
  
Still, a Bible, a well thumbed one, and page marked at that was the last thing Hermione expected to find on a pure-blood's shelf. After all, they only celebrated Christmas because it was fun, and a Christian alteration of the pagan festival Saturnus.  
  
Opening it at the marker, Hermione began to read the passage marked out - Job's Complaint to God. She was worried that it began 'Perish the day when I was born'. Things were not looking good.  
  
Then, on cue, things got worse. Turning the page, she noticed the lines that had been marked out:  
  
'Every terror that haunted me has caught up with me, and all that I feared has come upon me. There is no peace of mine nor quiet for me; I chafe in torment and have no rest.'  
  
Things like this needed taking in hand, she decided. She moved the marker to Ecclesiasticus, the passage known as the Heroes of Israel's past. It had been a favourite of her old school, and would surely give him pause for thought. Not to mention let her know how often he read his scriptures.  
  
She had just settled the book back in its hiding place and moved on when she heard a voice behind her, cold a nuclear winter, devoid of emotion:  
  
"What imbecilic notions lead you to believe you have any right to trespass here?"  
  
Hermione turned mouth slightly agape, expecting her Potions Master to be as cold and aloof as his voice.  
  
He wasn't  
  
His whole body language looked predatory, and his eyes burned with fury.  
  
As she stood rooted to the spot, he began to advance upon her.  
  
A/N  
  
Okay, end of another chapter, delays due to post a-level result hangover, hope I am forgiven.  
  
'Caritas' is latin for an emotional attachment, a bond of affection.  
  
'Nudo' is latin for unveiling  
  
I studied latin/classic at school and love it!  
  
Job's Complaint is Job 3:1-26. The Ecclesiasticus ref is 44:1-15.  
  
Curiouser and curiouser is from 'Alice in Wonderland', Lewis Caroll  
  
A few of you have commented about the mention of chi. I should explain that I am a student of judo, a judoka, and so take the concept of chi (inner strength) seriously. It is an important part of the rituals of respect you pay to the other judoka. It is described as a misty light that envelops you when you are relaxed and focused on your essence or being. I hope this help, otherwise use a pinch of salt and read on.  
  
Hermione's maturity (as EmmyWood pointed out) is definitely there. However she alternates between crying and wallowing in self pity, and doing something purposeful. She is determined not to be a victim and achieves this with patch success.  
  
Despite her maturity however she can be a bitch, which is why she announces Harry's invisibility cloak (for Prettyflower). His calm in the argument upsets her - she wants him to be in as much turmoil as she is. It is also an attempt to keep him in the tower at nights.  
  
That's all folks - Photis. 


	9. Amends

A/N: Right, reason for the 1am update is that Snape being really nasty (because that's a real shocker) seems to have distressed some of you. Okay, I know, Hermione doesn't deserve this, but Snape's space is his own and he's moody tonight!  
  
Oh, and for those of you who expect this to become a HG/SS romance, it will, and it won't. I'm tired. It made sense to me.  
  
Oh, and please don't be too offended by the Christmas comment. I just feel that old wizarding families (which make up most of the wizarding world) are more likely to be pagans than Christians. I could have said they celebrated Christmas because they were ensnared in the materialistic trappings of a global capitalist society (types she on her laptop), and have succumbed to the age of unbelief, but fun was easier to spell, when I thought about it.  
  
Thanks for all the reviews - I love you all. Bye - Photis.  
  
Chapter 7: Amends  
  
As Snape strode towards Hermione, taking long purposeful steps, robes less than immaculate and flapping wildly, she backed away hastily.  
  
She was absolutely terrified. Whatever progress had been made in the past days towards regaining her former self-assurance, it had now become totally irrelevant.  
  
Not that she was sure that even an undamaged Hermione could have stood up to an angry Potions Master acting like a wounded bear. His features had moulded themselves into the look she remembered from the Shrieking Shack incident four years ago. Back then, she'd talked to him, tried to explain the situation, and had been told in no uncertain terms to shut up.  
  
Right now silence, and getting out of his way were looking like the best options.  
  
Except that the getting out of his way part was impeded by the bookcase behind her: Snape had backed her up to the wall, and continued to move closer, presumably for the kill.  
  
When he was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face, he finally stopped, and seemed to take a moment to compose himself. The folds of his robes brushed against her legs as he arranged them, and the expression on his face became marginally more impassive.  
  
However, rather than being reassuring, the silence that accompanied this series of events was intimidating. He must know how afraid she was.  
  
"How fitting, Miss Granger. The one time I am actually interested in the answer you were asked to give, and you have nothing to say." His voice was pure ice.  
  
She knew she wanted to tell him that she'd waited because she was worried for him - that he was rapidly becoming the most important person to her at Hogwarts - but on this occasion, words indeed had failed her.  
  
Instead, she did the only thing she could, and forced herself to look him in the eyes, which meant she had to shuffle her shoulders against the bookcase to look up, as he was so much taller than she.  
  
Looking into his eyes gave her the familiar sensation of getting lost in empty, darkened tunnels that lead to only a deeper darkness. But this time she held his gaze longer than she had ever previously dared, and saw something else there.  
  
"You're hurt."  
  
"How observant of you. However you have yet to answer my question."  
  
Okay, Hermione. Concentrate on breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. Now think.  
  
But when she finally opened her mouth to speak again, it was with a voice cracked in emotion.  
  
"I was worried, and I - I, um wanted, um - I -" A pause. A ragged breath. "Oh, God, too close." The last words came out in a choked sob.  
  
He finally seemed to realise what he was doing to her, or that realisation had just made it to the top of his priority list, and he backed away a step, looking at the panic written on her face. He seemed to wait for a heartbeat, perhaps to catch her if she fell, the crossed to his chair in front of the fireplace.  
  
He sat with his head in his hands for a while, allowing Hermione to observe him properly. She noticed that he too was shaking.  
  
For her part she stayed pressed up against the bookcase, unwilling to move just yet.  
  
"I wanted to check that you weren't to badly hurt when you got back. I know that there's nothing I could do to help, but I couldn't just go back to my room and put you and your suffering out of my mind."  
  
"I've told you what you need to do about my suffering."  
  
"You still have to help me get my life back first. Well, I'll go away now."  
  
"NO!" the harness with which he answered shocked them both, although it was Hermione that visibly flinched, "I mean, you don't have to go. As you've already broken in, stayed out past curfew and raised my blood pressure to dangerously high levels, you may as well stay a bit longer, that is."  
  
"Okay" she replied, following his gesture and sitting down opposite him, shivering slightly.  
  
"Are you cold?" Please let her be cold not afraid.  
  
"Yes. Could you light the fire?"  
  
He chuckled despite himself. "You mean you've made yourself at home poking round my rooms, but didn't dare light a fire?"  
  
"Well," she said indignantly, "I didn't want any unexpected calls; I guessed this fire was on the Floo Network."  
  
"I see. So it was fear of discovery that drove you to my rooms."  
  
"Well kind of."  
  
"I see. So you'd rather be discovered here and accused of being my lover, than in the classroom suspected of brewing illicit potions, or my office, pegged as a cheat."  
  
"That's about it - but I brew my illicit potions in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."  
  
"That would be the polyjuice, then."  
  
"What? How did you? Why didn't you put me in detention?"  
  
"Boomslang skin is only used for one thing in Hogwart's textbooks, and I was more than impressed with your abilities, so chose to overlook it."  
  
"Aren't you going to ask who I impersonated?"  
  
"I already know - Milicent Bulstrode's cat. Less than successfully, I recall."  
  
Hermione's cheeks coloured red, but she grinned anyway.  
  
"You just love knowing everything, don't you Professor?"  
  
"Only as much as you do, Hermione. And as were trading such personal insults why don't you drop the formalities?"  
  
"Okay, er -"  
  
"Severus."  
  
"Severus. Okay. You're still hurt. Is there anything I can do to help?"  
  
"No. I presume you know the Cruciatus curse (here she paled slightly) works by blocking everything put pain for a while after it ends, so the victim feels the aches it produces, and nothing else."  
  
"No, I didn't. Is it a time-lapse thing?"  
  
"No, other sensations have to build up until they overcome the barrier left in place, then the pain fades with time, as it would with a normal injury."  
  
"Oh."  
  
A moments pause and then she stood and walked round the back of his chair. Ever so gingerly she began to touch his scalp with the very tips of her fingers. Immediately he braced. "Hermione, I -"  
  
She cut him off. "My mum gets lots of migraines. She had me trained to do this by the time I was walking." He still wasn't relaxing. "It's alright, I tell anyone who asks I'm just trying to get better grades, not seduce you."  
  
He grudgingly sat back against his chair, murmuring "Most generous of you."  
  
She worked her fingers along his hair line and then down over his temples, only using the lightest of touches, just enough to register, but not enough to cause uncomfortable pressure. Then moving back up, she traced circles back through his hair, over the crown of his head, down, ending in short brushes at the base of his skull and in he soft hair on the back of his neck.  
  
His breathing was slowly growing more regular and easier, as her fingers became slicked with the grease from his hair. Strangely enough, she didn't mind, the satisfaction she felt from helping him outweighing what would otherwise be truly disgusting.  
  
After a while she fell into a pattern of motions and repeated them over and over allowing her thoughts to wonder as he seemed uninspired to talk more. She was here, she finally admitted because he had saved her. Not from jumping, but from that wild, uncontrolled run from the tower, and from spiralling depression that would have surely followed. He had drawn her out when she was in real danger of withdrawing within herself, with pertinent questions that she had answered to herself later, if not to his face at the time.  
  
Eventually, she noticed that he was drifting towards sleep, and at the end of her cycle, lifted her fingers away. He murmured slightly, so she asked softly, "Have I done enough?"  
  
"If I say yes will you stop?"  
  
"Not if you want me to carry on."  
  
"No, you've done enough." With which words he seemed to fall asleep.  
  
As quietly as she could, Hermione retrieved her cloak, and headed for the door.  
  
* * *  
  
While she closed the door, he heard her mutter 'sweet dreams, Severus,' before leaving him alone.  
  
Alone. Again. As always.  
  
Not that it was her fault - if he hadn't have pretended to fall asleep, she would have stayed and talked all night.  
  
He still had the bitter aftertaste of her fear in his mouth, although he had consciously tuned it out at the time. She had committed the unforgivable sin, invaded his private space, the buffer zone he kept around him to stop anyone getting emotionally of physically too close, and adding to the scars on his psyche. She had violated his refuge.  
  
And it had taken her tears to prove to him that he didn't care. He'd rather she be there and happy, than somewhere else and crying over him.  
  
He didn't deserve her tears.  
  
On top of that, he could still feel the tingles her fingers had caused running over his scalp and down his spine. How she had been brave enough, or cared enough, to do that, he would never understand.  
  
The aches of the Cruciatus were gone, replaced by a deeper, older ache of need and loneliness.  
  
He didn't deserve her. He could never deserve her.  
  
But she was better gone.  
  
That way she'd get some sleep. And he'd be free to relieve himself of his throbbing erection, concealed by the robes.  
  
With a supreme effort he got out of the chair and headed for the shower.  
  
* * *  
  
It was much later, as he finally got round to a review of the nights event, that he remembered he hadn't shared his discovery with her. The way that Voldemort had hinted that he was behind Potter's sudden change of character.  
  
He wondered if that was the same explanation she had come up with, which she had wanted to tell him tonight.  
  
He knew that she was desperately seeking his approval - the way she had glowed at his praise earlier in the evening was proof enough.  
  
He owed it to her to hear her ideas out, and you never knew, she was quite capable of producing a stroke of genius.  
  
After all, she was simply amazing. For a Gryffindor, of course.  
  
Picking up his quill, he began to write, as expressively as he could.  
  
* * *  
  
The letter was waiting for her at breakfast, as was Snape.  
  
When she retrieved the letter and noted the handwriting, she looked up to the head table to see him looking at her.  
  
A ghost of a smile crossed his face.  
  
She began to read;  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
I should begin with my sincerest thanks for your skills - they turned out to be invaluable. Your mother must dread being without you.  
  
I suppose I should also apologise for falling asleep before you had chance to tell me your theories. I am still keen to hear them, especially now I have a few ideas of my own on the subject, gleaned from various . . . meetings.  
  
If your work is heading where I think it is, it will be less of a fairy story and more of a fairytale ending. I feel privileged that you want me to be a part of it.  
  
As today is Saturday, I suppose you had noticed, there are no lessons, but I keep office hours for any student who should need to see me. If you were not too offended by my behaviour last night, I would appreciate a visit.  
  
To discuss the ideas I mentioned, of course.  
  
Yours hopefully  
  
Professor S. Snape (Severus)  
  
Hermione looked up and grinned, only to find him gone.  
  
Foolish man, she thought, so insecure he can't even bare to wait for my reaction. He'll just sit at his desk and lurk in his dungeon and sulk till I show up.  
  
Still, this letter was a vast improvement on the last one, and showed some improvement in his usually dour outlook on life.  
  
And, better yet, he wanted to help her work on her theory.  
  
It just went to show that every cloud has a silver lining. She'd get to do the research she'd spent a good few years pining to do, and earn the respect of the teacher she most desired to impress.  
  
Breakfast forgotten, she bolted back to Gryffindor Tower to fetch her notes.  
  
It was time for the war-council to convene. 


	10. Noms de Guerre

Chapter 8: Noms de Guerre  
  
Snape for his part had returned to his rooms to read the message that Hermione had left for him. He had discovered it almost as soon as he had checked the bookshelves where he found her standing, guided by the removal of dust in certain areas.  
  
'Let us now praise famous men. . .' the passage she had marked began. He suspected it meant that he needed to stand up and be counted, that his contribution to life could be to big for him to just fade away unremarked. Her confidence in him was touching, if a little naïve, he thought. He just hoped that she didn't expect him to have a little faith.  
  
And as if thinking about Hermione had summoned her to him (though it was more likely to be the letter requesting she come see him) the lady herself walked through his classroom door.  
  
He immediately stood, and then wondered why.  
  
To disguise the gesture he moved to his office door;  
  
"This is probably a conversation better started behind the silencing wards in my office. Considering the allegiances of a good few of the ears that live in this dungeon." He couldn't help smiling at the shocked look on her face.  
  
"Believe me; I'm well aware of the failings of my own house. That's part of the *joy* of looking after them."  
  
Now she seemed to be suppressing the urge to laugh as she followed him into his office, then hesitated, unsure of what to do next.  
  
Snape carefully seated himself behind his desk so that he could still see through the patch of wall enchanted to give him a clear view of what was going on in the classroom. That came in useful for supervising detentions where the potions brewed gave of foul-smelling fumes. The kind he usually reserved for arrogant Gryffindors.  
  
However, at the moment he was more interested in observing Hermione. She was beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable, and was standing in the doorway. He doubted she was up to him closing and locking the door with his wand.  
  
"Come in. (mock impatience in his tone) You should probably shut the door as well, that activates the silencing wards."  
  
She appeared to pause and consider a moment. Then she turned and closed the door resolutely, and pulled out her own wand to place a one-way looking charm on the door. Either of them could simply open the door to leave, but someone outside would find the door as impenetrable as a wall of stone, judging by the strength of the charm used. No simple 'alohomora' would suffice here.  
  
It looked set to be an interesting conversation, but right now he was just proud of her for getting a sufficient grip on herself to do what was necessary despite her fears. Now all he was sensing from her was determination.  
  
Which musings distracted him enough that he almost jumped when she brought a heavy book out of her bag and deposited on his desk with a thud. Almost, but not quite.  
  
"Have you read this?" Straight to the point.  
  
"Yes. I presume this is the library copy? (a nod) Then I should probably confess the removal of the pages making up chapter 6-10 was my work, as well as the contents page."  
  
Her face was frowning. She felt confused, and mildly outraged, though whether with the distraction or with his sacrilege he did not know.  
  
"Were they on empathy?" she ventured after a moment.  
  
She smiled when his nod confirmed what she had suspected on reading the first five chapters of the book - that her talent was closely related to empathy, and that the two could be used in synchrony.  
  
"Don't suppose you remember what it said?"  
  
He sighed. She was unsure whether it was an admission of defeat or dismay at having to reveal more details on his secret. It turned out to be defeat, but not the defeat of ignorance.  
  
He rose once again, "Whatever I do, it seems we always end up back here," he told her as he flicked his wand to reveal the archway to his rooms. She noticed he had still not changed his passwords. "I have an unabridged copy on my bookshelf. And just as you had made yourself comfortable as well." He finished with a touch of irony in his voice.  
  
Hermione, it seemed, shared no such reluctance at entering his private rooms as she did at entering his office, and was having to take care not to step on his heels in her eagerness to follow. He hoped it was just his collection of books that she found so enticing. He couldn't deal with further complications to the relationship right now.  
  
Locating the book on one of the higher shelves, Snape brought it down, and handed it to her, feeling very much like he was giving candy to a child. She flicked immediately to the pages that had been previously missing and began to study the chapter summaries she found there.  
  
Snape for his part let her proceed in silence a while, before realising that she was lost in this new fount of knowledge and would need a little assistance back to the reality her body currently inhabited.  
  
"So," he virtually growled, when shifting noisily around her had failed to capture her attention. Hermione looked up, startled. She had forgotten he was there.  
  
"At some point are you going to sit down and tell me precisely what empathy and *mens fortis* have to do with Voldemort?"  
  
To her credit she didn't flinch at the name, although it was the first time he had spoken it aloud in her presence. And she did sit down in the chair by the fire without him having to indicate where she should sit.  
  
"Don't you know?" she paused, evidently doing a mental edit. "I mean, well, I didn't mean that to sound as condescending as it came out, but, well, your letter suggested that you already knew what I did, had figured out what I was going to tell you somehow."  
  
She paused again, this time mainly to breathe, while her internal monologue adopted 'please don't be offended' as its new chant.  
  
"No, I don't know. Voldemort intimated to me that he was behind Potter's out-of-character behaviour, so I surmised you had drawn the same conclusion from *your* letter. As to the details you find me totally ignorant. Bear in mind that this is a once-in-a-lifetime-offer, but would you care to enlighten me?"  
  
She laughed, mutedly, before pressing her lips together to stop herself, then ventured, "there was a joke in there somewhere, right?"  
  
"If you say so."  
  
"I do. Anyway, my explanation. The *mens fortis* mentioned in the book, I call it chi, in the Eastern style, but no matter. I can see it in people. Around people. It tells me something about the motivations of their actions. And Harry's is very strange, like there were two people there. If I didn't know better I'd say he was pregnant. (at this Snape almost grinned)  
  
"But if he were pregnant, the second 'person' wouldn't change so much. How much is there of the chi-that-isn't-Harry varies, and increases when he's acting really . . . strange. So I started running through possibilities of how someone else could be inhabiting him, controlling him, and who would want to, and I could only come up with one answer. Voldemort.  
  
"As best as I can figure, it must be something to do with the scar, and the link that creates. I know that it's at least a little telepathic, because Harry gets premonitions, or can sense Voldemort through it. So maybe there's a way that the connection has been reversed and that's what's happening here.  
  
"At least that's what I hope. The other thing I hope is that if we can figure out exactly what the connection is we can use it against Voldemort, and stop him. Maybe for good."  
  
Snape had listened to this outpouring mainly because it had seemed as useless to try and interrupt as Canute commanding the incoming tides to recede. Hermione was a born lecturer. Now a response was required. He tried to be suitably Slytherin about it.  
  
"We also need to try and discover what Voldemort is up to with regards to Potter."  
  
Seeing Hermione frown trying to follow his link, he clarified. "When Voldemort summoned me he knew about the situation as it is now - you, the rape, Potter, and me. He pumped me for the details, but he had a good idea already. He seemed concerned with keeping the two of you separated."  
  
Her eyes were definitely questioning, so he decided to tell her everything, and see what her hungry young intellect could make of it.  
  
"Normally he holds a Revel when I am summoned, and I am forced to take part in the . . . activities for the entertainment of the other Death Eaters. Believe me when I say I took no pleasure in the process - it was about proving my loyalty to him. I think it was also his way of trying to break me down, as I had never really taken too much pleasure in Revels when I was free to attend or not as I pleased, I preferred the payback raids.  
  
"But last night was different. No-one else was there but Malfoy senior, and Voldemort began feeding me yard after yard of disinformation. The gist of it was he wants me to take Potter under my wing and teach him some of the Dark Arts, but teach him with holes in his knowledge, so that he would be vulnerable both to attack and the strains of incorrect spell-casting. One or both could easily lead to his death, which is what Voldemort wants.  
  
"I'm sure it was disinformation because it relies as a plan to heavily on me being fanatically loyal to Voldemort, but it does tell me three things:  
  
"Firstly Voldemort wants me to be alone with Potter on some occasions. That would be only natural, for as a double-agent I would inform Dumbledore of the order, and together we would set up mock-meetings, away from prying eyes, to keep up the pretence of my loyalty. There must be a reason.  
  
"Secondly, it tells me that the connection between Potter and Voldemort is corporeal not just astral. He said that Potter had to die for him to regain his former strength. Even though he was revived with Potter's blood, some of the ancient magic must still be acting against Voldemort, preventing him regaining his immortal status.  
  
"And finally it shows that Voldemort is more aware of Hogwarts events than we care to believe. Tell me, did Potter have his invisibility cloak the second time in the tower? (a silent nod) So there's a chance he heard all of our conversation on the ledge. No it's alright (response to seeing Hermione blanche), really. But it seems coincidental that Voldemort stops trying to get me to self destruct the day after my telling you that I am incapable of doing so - "  
  
"You don't think that I told anyone!" Hermione interrupted, sounding strangely hoarse.  
  
"No, of course not. So that leaves Potter under an invisibility cloak listening to the details, with Voldemort listening to us through his ears. We have to assume that Voldemort can take control at any time he likes, and experiences everything that Potter does. The only reason he is not in total control all the time is that Potter can't be seen to act too strange.  
  
"Anyway, so Voldemort now wants me to put myself under suspicion. Maybe the plan is to make my own side turn on me - I don't know."  
  
He finished, feeling a wave of cold horror sweep over Hermione. What had he said?  
  
"You think Harry was up there? But that means - he couldn't have known you were following - he was going to let me jump."  
  
They both sat in silence a moment, because there really was nothing to say to that.  
  
"You're not going to like this, but we need to know what's going on with Potter. What Voldemort's real plan for him is. We need to keep up with his actions to be able to use the link against Voldemort. I know about your argument, and it was cleverly staged, but it's not the way six-year friendships end. It's plausible - and very necessary - for you to make up."  
  
"Six-year friendships end when your best friend doesn't bother to save your life any more." A strange fire was glowing behind her eyes.  
  
"So you'll do it then? You'll watch him like a hawk? He thinks he's got away with it - Voldemort thinks he's got away with it - are you going to make use of this opportunity?"  
  
"Opportunity" she spat. "What opportunity? Why should anything Potter does bother me any more?"  
  
"Because you say you want your life back. Well take a look at things in that harsh light of day. You're Muggle-born. If Voldemort wins you'll be one of the first to die. If you want life, you ought to fight for it, because relying on yourself is all you have left. Because working every spare hour, expending every resource you have to figure out a way to turn Voldemort's new scheme against him is what it takes to win a war. Because, if you don't watch Potter, or keep this secret, the game will be up, and you'll have squandered this chance on wounded pride, and wasted a lot of effort besides."  
  
He knew he was being harsh on her, but he hoped it was enough.  
  
Slowly she nodded.  
  
"We need to start by examining the ancient magic that binds the two of them together, and the ritual Voldemort performed at the end of the fourth year."  
  
He nodded his assent and rose to retrieve yet more books from his shelves. When he had formed two reasonable-sized piles he handed one to Hermione.  
  
"You start with the reflected curse - I'll do the restoration - I don't know details, just make a note of anything that seems likely."  
  
With that he led her through a door into what was unmistakably a study, with a desk large enough for the two of them and her books. He conjured her up a chair, and the two began to work in virtual silence.  
  
* * *  
  
In his office, Dumbledore smiled, his characteristic twinkle restored a little more than it had been earlier. Staring into the fire, he reflected that Severus Snape and Hermione Granger were a strange combination, but it appeared that they worked well together.  
  
Since Snape had come to his office in the small hours of Friday morning, Dumbledore had been wondering what to do about the situation. He had faith in Hermione's ability to cope, but he felt that taking a more active role might become necessary, even though he had instructed Snape to stay at her side until she chose to leave.  
  
After witnessing the wordless exchange in the great hall this morning, followed by Snape's sulking exit, fearing rejection, and Hermione's gleeful one, anticipating great things, he had decided to listen in. This was something he usually tried to avoid - he found it hard to square with his ethics, but was glad he had.  
  
They were an interesting couple to observe. And Snape certainly knew how to handle her.  
  
She seemed to have the unique ability to respond positively to Snape's sarcastic nature, in that it made her stronger, reminded her to fight, or on occasion made her laugh. Or perhaps she simply mistook it for a joke. And because she did not respond with uniform weakness (the thing Dumbledore knew Snape despised the most) he did not do his utmost to hurt her. They seemed to bring out the best in each other.  
  
And now they were giving their best to solving the riddle of Riddle. Dumbledore reflected, once again, that if he was thinking up terrible puns, that things must indeed be looking up.  
  
There was very little he could do directly to help - both resented him to different degrees. Hermione, for her failure to make Head Girl, although had she but known it, which had been done to protect her. She had already become too large a target. And Snape, Snape because Dumbledore forced him day after day to live, until he realised that that was what he actually wanted to do. If that day ever came.  
  
But he could make sure that the texts they would need could be found in the library - what they would do with them, though, was up to them. No doubt it would be something ingenious. And he could make sure the other teachers knew that Hermione Granger was to have freedom of movement - she would need it to conduct her research. He needed give no reasons, and others could draw what conclusions they may.  
  
For now, the future was looking just a little brighter all round.  
  
* * *  
  
The house-elves had delivered lunch a little after 2pm, when the pair had been working for over five hours. Apparently it was normal practise for the elves to bring food to the teachers who missed meals, once the great hall closed up and the food returned to the kitchen. The house-elves had been happy to add another plate, and Hermione found herself too hungry to protest over their enslavement.  
  
She had a new banner to carry anyhow.  
  
She began to munch on a sandwich as she continued to read, but was surprised when Snape marked her page and closed the book.  
  
"I was always taught that it's rude to read at the table."  
  
She gave him an exasperated look, then shrugged. "So was I. But it's a welcome alternative to Quidditch at the dinner table."  
  
He nodded as if she had just made a deep and meaningful comment.  
  
"Very well."  
  
"Very well, I can read, or very well, you won't talk about Quidditch?"  
  
"Neither. It was very well; you can ask one of the questions that I can see burning your tongue. Just one."  
  
"Can I look round properly?"  
  
"I was under the impression you already had, but yes. There's not much to see though, I never finished unpacking. These are the only furnished rooms - and the bathroom of course, but that's standard, undecorated."  
  
"I made it to the bookshelves and got distracted."  
  
He raised and eyebrow at her as she moved. "Most impressive. Ten paces at most. Your concentration span is somewhat lacking."  
  
However she was already opening the door to what would have been a bedroom. True to his word, it was white, bare and full of cardboard boxes.  
  
"Don't you sleep?"  
  
"No comment - that counts as a separate question."  
  
She sighed, and continued, "Well, I never had you down as one for living out of boxes, for what, eighteen years?"  
  
"I never had you down as one to trail breadcrumbs across the floor." He countered.  
  
She looked at him a moment, head stuck out round the door, then decided he was joking and laughed.  
  
Trouble was, he was perfectly serious. Something about her had always screamed 'obsessive tidier'.  
  
Giving up on rational thought, and deciding her laugh made him feel more alive than he had for years, and said;  
  
"So how do you rate Gryffindor's chances in the Quidditch cup?"  
  
She laughed again.  
  
A/N:  
  
Okay, sorry for the delay in updates, but a longer chapter to make up for it.  
  
'Noms de Guerre' is a French phrase - literally meaning, war names, but refers to someone becoming a conspirator by taking on a nom de guerre.  
  
Thanks for all the reviews - do you think the story is going the right way, a decent balance of action and emotion etc.  
  
All opinions welcome  
  
Photis. 


	11. Hermione's List

Chapter 9: Hermione's List  
  
You can do this, Hermione she said to herself, as she walked towards the Gryffindor tower. She reminded herself of Snape's lecture on commitment and the very Slytherin value of doing what ever necessary to succeed.  
  
'Life,' he had said in the manner of one quoting a profound truth, 'is only fair by accident; it is designed for pragmatism, not equality. Isn't that the basic premise of Darwin's ideas of Survival of the Fittest? The most practical among the species survive to live on, and the rest get left with their ideals by the wayside. You're a part of the war for survival now in much more than a reproductive sense. You have to be unemotional and logical, remind yourself why you're doing this, because in this war, no- one's bothering to take prisoners.'  
  
Hermione quickened her pace so as to reach the tower a little quicker, before her resolve ran out. To give her strength, she ran through a bit more of Snape's monologue.  
  
'I know that Gryffindors don't understand Slytherins - you think we're conniving - maybe you're right - but turning every situation to your own advantage is a skill once acquired, never lost. That's what we learn to do about the time we learn to talk, and it's what you have to do here. Forgiving Harry inwardly so that you can give an appearance to the outside world of their being nothing too badly wrong is something you need to do anyway. The drain on your emotions of hating him, and the waste of your energy, is something ultimately as damaging for you as for him.  
  
'I know Muggles place a lot of value in a system of criminal justice and civil litigation - crime and punishment - and in compensation and vindication and liable actions. I know that that is the culture you come from. But no-one can compensate you for the loss time you spend trapped in negative thoughts. No-one can give you back those wasted hours, days, years, at the end of your life. No amount of money, or suffering of the guilty, can take the stain on your soul away when you've brooded and shut yourself out of the light for so long. You're angry and hurt and vengeful, I understand, I was nearly fed to a werewolf, so I do know.'  
  
It was at that point he thrust his arm under her nose, his left arm, forcing her to look at the hateful mark there.  
  
'I brooded you know' he had continued, 'for so long on the injustice of being forbidden to speak of it, of the golden pair of Gryffindors receiving no punishment, no reprimand even for what they would have done to their so- called friend. They would have made Remus Lupin a murderer, and were never even asked to apologise, to either of us. I hated, I honed my contempt, my disgust, my anger to a fine knife edge, and then when it was so sharp I just had to use it or die, I used it against myself.  
  
'I used it to cut away all the voices inside and out telling me what I was doing to earn this mark was wrong, and it was not until long after I had finally received it that the futility of my gesture came back to me. Sirius Black tried to take my life that night, and though he thinks he's failed, he didn't. I gave him my life because I couldn't move on, couldn't forgive, couldn't forget; so here I am stuck in a dungeon trapped between the two sides, hated by all. And I put myself here with righteous indignation, because I couldn't see my mistake until too late. I don't want the same thing to happen to you.'  
  
At which point he had stopped, looking bewildered that he had talked so much, revealed so much of himself.  
  
Which meant that her next comment was made in all seriousness, as flippancy would have been to disrespect the confidence he had just given to her:  
  
"I never thought I'd hear a Slytherin telling me to forgive and forget."  
  
He had paused so long that she thought he'd been offended. The whole time he had been speaking, his chi had glowed so strongly she knew every word had been taken straight from his heart. Then when he answered her, it glowed just as strongly, showing that this was his fervent belief too.  
  
'Sure, Forgive and Forget. Just remember to keep a list of names. Trust me when I say that revenge is much more satisfying when you take it because you can, not because you have to, as a part of an obsession.  
  
'Anyway,' he had added, 'there are always those "Dark-Arts" lessons to fill; needless to say I won't be teaching, anything . . . valid. Although as you know certain failures can be painful and humiliating. I trust you can think of - oh I see from your face you can. Excellent. Run along now and make your faux-peace.'  
  
By which point in the memory he had ushered out of the door to his rooms, and in reality her feet had carried her to the Portrait Hole.  
  
It was now or never.  
  
She took a deep breath and entered. Harry was sitting in the chair by the fire, as usual, holding court. Hermione caught his eye as she moved fully into the room, and immediately looked away.  
  
Her resolve had suddenly just crumbled away. She couldn't even feel its dust in her, so she fled, and prayed that he wouldn't follow. It was a terrible end to a day that had shaped up well.  
  
Locking the door, she listened anxiously for footsteps indicating that someone had followed her. After a while she heard Ginny's voice calling to her over knocking on the door. She stayed seated on the bed and ignored her, letting her mind drift to the day of discovery she had had today. The books had been most informative, and of course, she loved researching, but Severus' boxes had been much more exciting.  
  
Severus, for that was what she had begun to call him in her head, had explained that he had never unpacked because what was in the boxes were the things he didn't use, but owned anyway. He seemed to have adopted a Spartan lifestyle because he needed nothing more, but had the wealth to live much more comfortably had he wished to do so.  
  
Not that he had used as many words, but Hermione got the strong impression that the contents of the boxes were in fact everything he owned, as packed when his parents had told him he couldn't be a Death Eater and a Snape at the same time, and to get out of the family house.  
  
This was something she'd got no idea how she would cope with. To be totally on her own in the world, with nowhere to go. There had only been one place left for him to go to, he had said with a grimace, and that turned out to be into further darkness.  
  
The boxes themselves had been covered in dust, and the contents carefully packed and wrapped, by magic she presumed. Some of the boxes themselves were still reduced and sealed, whereas others had been returned to normal size, opened and were missing contents by the spaces left in them. She assumed he had only opened a box when he needed something, and didn't come in here very often.  
  
He told her that most of the books lining the wall of his living room had been bought during his years teaching, either at need or as a distraction from the endless cycle of lecturing, brewing, marking, grading and testing that ultimately left some of his students still capable of burning water. He had said he would read anything so long as the author was talented, magically or not. This was the point where the daredevil had caught her tongue, making her ask 'Have you ever read Wuthering Heights, then?'  
  
He had frowned, getting the feeling that there was some point to this innocent question beyond what it appeared to be, and not liking to be ignorant.  
  
"No, but I suppose you have."  
  
"Yes, I have. I even brought a copy with me to Hogwarts. It has prize place next to Hogwarts: A History."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Oh, what?" she had said sweetly.  
  
"Is that all you're going to say?"  
  
"But you said that enlightening you would be a once in a lifetime event. So I'm refraining."  
  
He snorted slightly, then said, "You can bring your copy down tomorrow, then."  
  
"Okay." She said cheerfully.  
  
"Know-it-all."  
  
"And I thought name-calling was below your intellectual standards."  
  
Which had been the point at when he had begun to tell he exactly why and how she had to make up with Potter, at least enough for the outside world to be convinced.  
  
That was what she was supposed to be doing right now, but had given up on at the thought of proximity to him.  
  
Wrenching her mind back to Severus' casual invite to come back tomorrow, she smiled as a warm tingling filled her body, and let herself drift to sleep fully clothed, lying on her bed with her feet dangling of the end.  
  
* * *  
  
Which was how she woke up several hours later, in the small hours of the morning, feeling stiff and aching. Considering just how cold she felt, Hermione decided to go a warm up by the common room fire, the only one the house elves kept burning through the night. Stretching out, she checked that her wand was securely tucked in her waist band - she had learnt her lesson about keeping her wand with her at all times - and headed out. She entered the common room looking around for anyone else, and seeing no-one headed straight for the plush, velvet covered chair positioned by the fire, and sat down.  
  
Trouble was someone was already sitting there.  
  
In fact Harry had started to get up when he realised that this sequence of events was going to lead to Hermione sitting on his lap. So as it was, he was standing as she began to sit, and the bumped into eachother awkwardly. Hermione immediately sprang away from him with a startled cry, which action dislodged the invisibility cloak from half of his body. Sighing he quickly removed the rest.  
  
Hermione backed away from him looking like a cornered animal, and fumbled to draw her wand. For his part Harry made no move other than to fold the invisibility cloak and sit back down - there was nothing he could do to make anything better, so he did nothing to make things worse.  
  
"Why are you sitting down here under that thing?" she snapped.  
  
He shrugged. "I got tired of answering questions about my invisibility cloak. It was almost as big news as our argument. And McGonagall knows about it too, so has instructed the fat lady to stay closed at night after curfew to anyone but prefects. And none of the prefects seem inclined to go out tonight."  
  
Hermione didn't even consider apologising for letting that detail slip. It had been a calculated move at the time.  
  
"So why are you sitting here?" Still standing, pointing her wand at him, suspicious.  
  
"Keeping warm, not waking up my dorm with my dreams, thinking . . ." he trailed of looking suddenly lost and afraid.  
  
Hermione was vaguely surprised that she did not care. She did not want to help him as she would have done on Wednesday, before all this began, and she did not delight in his anguish, as she would have done earlier today. She simply felt nothing inside, and took it as a sign that she would be able to do what was necessary after all.  
  
"Are you still having the dreams?" she asked careful to sound indifferent about his answer.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Have they changed since . . . Thursday?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
She was careful to conceal her growing interest, and Harry took her insistence as a sign she was trying to assess what danger he still posed to her.  
  
"How so?"  
  
"There more about me doing things . . . magic . . . than about people, which is what they used to be . . . and they seem if anything less disturbing."  
  
He looked at her, searching for anything, and got a response he never expected: "Or maybe you're less disturbed by them."  
  
Apparently, he couldn't think of an answer to that one.  
  
"I've spent the last few days expecting to be dragged of to Dumbledore at any moment, despite what you said. I figured once you could get round to repeating what I'd done that'd be it."  
  
"No - I said I'm not going to report you, and I haven't, though my reasons for that are not to let you get away with it and not based on any affection for you. I believe Dumbledore actually knows the details, however, he cannot do anything without me speaking with him directly, which I have not done."  
  
It was amazing how calm she felt. How convincing herself to be in control of her emotions had put her in control of the situation itself. And how the wand in her hand meant it was going to stay that way.  
  
"The argument on in the common room is not going to account for us spending the rest of the year avoiding eachother like the plague. We need to patch it up, but spend time apart without seeming unfriendly. I have just started a new research project with a member of the teaching staff's guidance, so will be spending all my time studying, or working outside the tower."  
  
She knew that she sounded like an anal-retentive tour guide, on a power trip, but it was the easiest way, and he wasn't going to repeat this conversation, so she continued, borrowing more than a little from McGonagall's oratory style.  
  
"You will be doing lots of Quidditch practise, and be too busy to bother with rousing me from my heavy workload. You will not visit the library for any longer than to check out books, and you will not come looking for me when I am out of the tower. I will eat lunch at the Gryffindor table, where I will read and you will not interrupt me, and I will eat other meals at the prefect's table.  
  
"We will continue to walk to classes together, and sit together; where we will just both have to try our best to act normal. If anyone comments, explain my behaviour as across between stress, over-work and a reaction to not being head girl. Is there anything else that I haven't covered?"  
  
"You haven't said why."  
  
"It's a pattern of behaviour close enough to normality to appear so at a causal glance, but designed to keep you away from me."  
  
"No, why are you so concerned with no-one suspecting?"  
  
"Potter, you lost any claim you ever had to know my thoughts and feelings when you betrayed me, raped me and then were prepared to let me jump to save yourself, even after I told you that I would not report you." Seeing the shocked look on her face, she added, "Yes, I found out you were there. It made you sink even lower in my opinion, though I didn't think it was possible."  
  
"What did you call me?" Softly, sadly, not antagonistic.  
  
"Potter. Not the most apt of epithets for you, not the one I would like to use, but nonetheless accurate."  
  
With which comment she turned on her heel and walked out, back to bed, warmed by the heat of adrenaline in her blood.  
  
* * *  
  
Severus Snape sat in his dungeon rooms letting his mind wander for Hermione's feelings and emotions. They were like precious jewels to him, because she offered them freely when she was with him, a so he didn't feel that he was stealing them when he lived through her vicariously.  
  
So it was that he felt her run from Potter the first time, and the burning shame that followed at her lack of Gryffindor courage, then her sadness at having her day ruined. When her mind recalled that she was seeing him the next day, he felt her anticipation and excitement, and despite himself he projected his emotions, his affection and admiration for her out, and relished the warm tingle that she felt as a result.  
  
Even sleeping, he listened for echoes of her dreams, so intently that he blanked out everything around him, everything but her. He was slowly letting Hermione Granger become the centre of his universe, and he knew that it was wrong.  
  
She was the first person that had shown him any kindness in nearly twenty years, and he was falling head over heals in love out of . . . what was it, gratitude? Relief? Desperation?  
  
And it was wrong - it was making him weak. He knew that unless he got his act together pretty soon he wouldn't have the strength to keep his distance when she decided that she loved him. For he didn't doubt that that was the fact she was convincing herself of - she had set him up as some kind of saviour, and forgotten his entirely selfish motivations for everything he was doing.  
  
It wouldn't be long before she had romanticised his character enough to fall in love with him. And conveniently forget that she had agreed to kill him. To be exact she had agreed to deliver him from his suffering - and now it seemed that she thought she could do that by loving him.  
  
He couldn't let her waste her life like that. Certainly she had gathered emotional scars in the past few days that would never fade entirely, but he would only serve to drag her down, for he could never heal.  
  
She was still naïve enough to think differently, but he knew that he was too young, too inexperienced to know her own feelings, let alone true love.  
  
And if true love it indeed was - well, then, if she too chose to force him to live, she could come back at any time. He didn't need to be a seer to know he'd still be somewhere, waiting.  
  
But he preferred to die and be done with it. And if she loved him, she couldn't kill him.  
  
So many reasons not to let her get close, and one reason to let her do as she pleased - he was beginning to need her in perpetual contact to stay breathing.  
  
And with a voice in his head telling him this was the deepest point of frustration, desperation and despair, he began to cry, silent tears rolling down his cheeks in the silence of the half-darkness.  
  
* * *  
  
Voldemort, however was not crying or daydreaming. He was laughing.  
  
He generally laughed when he overcame a problem. It was a suitable response for an evil tyrant, he felt.  
  
In this case the problem he had overcome was that of the limitations of his control of Potter.  
  
Up to now, he had only been able to control Potter when the boy had been unsure, it was really akin to making suggestions in his head when he was pondering options. Forceful suggestions.  
  
However Voldemort had some experience in the intricacies of the typical Gryffindor character, in that they tended to act without thinking when they were in danger. 'Sorry, I just didn't think,' could have been made the Gryffindor motto, it was said so often.  
  
But now Potter's tendency for impulsive and instinctive reactions was a disadvantage to Voldemort. He had virtually unlimited control of any and all plans running through Potter's head. Yet when Potter felt most threatened, as he did when he faced Voldemort, that was the time he was most likely jump without looking or considering where he was going to land.  
  
Which was unfortunate because it meant that Voldemort was liable to be out of the loop at what could be a crucial moment, and Potter's luck would usually guaranteed that the boy would live to fight another day. Unfortunately.  
  
However Voldemort had just established that he could take control of Potter's actions and thoughts at will. Admittedly it required him to put his corporeal body into a trance and the whole of his self into Potter's mind, but it was doable. And he only needed do it once more to ensure that The Boy Who Lived suffered an unfortunate demise.  
  
Things were definitely looking up.  
  
A/N:  
  
The forgive and forget, just keep a list of names quote is lifted from Prettyflower the Nightwalker's Bio page - thanks for your reviews, hope you like the tribute!!  
  
The Wuthering Heights, of course is leading to the obvious Heathcliffe parallels, I leave to your imagination . . .  
  
Okay, so you've read, and hopefully enjoyed, now review. Food for the plot faeries you understand (they're related to the tooth fairy, I believe.)  
  
Bye - Photis. 


	12. Best Laid Plans

Chapter 10: Best laid plans  
  
Sunday morning dawned bright and early, not a hint of cloud in the sky, unlike the heavy clouds of tension and negative feeling hanging over the halls of Hogwarts. England seemed to be enjoying an Indian Summer, which of course was no guarantee that the English were enjoying anything. In fact this glorious Sunday, none of our protagonists are very happy - neither Hermione Granger in her room, nor Harry Potter in the kitchens, and not surprisingly Severus Snape in his office.  
  
All have been awake since before dawn, and the nameless dread that settles in the darkness of night, when the world is silent and empty, had yet to lift from any of the three. However a small stream of delight flowed through the castle with the early-morning sunbeams. Unfortunately it was not as pure as the rays of sun which sped it along, as it was malicious glee belonging to none other than Draco Malfoy. He had been awoken by an owl at the room of his window, delivering a private note. Private because it bore the dark mark on its seal. And after reading it he had begun to plan.  
  
* * *  
  
The cause of Hermione's unhappiness was fairly trivial this morning, when compared to the ordeals she had endured the past few days.  
  
Preparing to skip breakfast and head down to Severus's rooms for an early start - she knew he would be awake - she had remembered to grab the promised copy of Wuthering Heights. Which was the cause of her current distress.  
  
She knew Severus was a proud man, and suddenly began to wonder whether he would consider the Heathcliff parallels (although she had not mentioned them, he was undoubtedly intelligent enough to notice them) offensive. She didn't want to give him any cause to push her away, because she knew that he would certainly try to. A man with a death-wish doesn't like to make emotional attachments.  
  
Which left her with a dilemma - back out and pretend she had forgotten or hand it over? The former option lacked merit because he would sense something was up, that she was lying, and it also galled her, as in seven years she had never forgotten a single item she needed for his lesson. The latter offered almost unrivalled potential for insult and ultimately rejection.  
  
It was quite a dilemma.  
  
And it was particularly upsetting because she had walked away from Potter on a power-induced high, and had returned to her room without feeling the need to dissolve into tears. True she had locked her door securely and slept with her wand under her pillow, but those were precautions she would now take for the rest of her life, and weren't such a bad idea anyway.  
  
Even when she had come down of her trip, she was still left with that residual feeling of confidence and surety. For a person who had always been so fiercely independent and in control of her surroundings, the past few days of self-doubt and insecurity had been awful to endure.  
  
She had so nearly got firmly on the road back to The Way Things Were, only to loose her footing over a book. It was crushing.  
  
But she wasn't going to cry again.  
  
* * *  
  
Snape for his part was sitting in his office working himself into as near a frenzy as a man who has spent all his life suppressing emotion to the darkest recesses of his mind could. That was to say that he was fidgeting in his chair, rubbing his hands together, then interlacing his fingers together, then steepling them under his chin, and so on in a ceaseless display of fluid motion. He was suppressing the urge to pace, to lash out, to attack simply anything and everything.  
  
He didn't pride himself on self-restraint without cause.  
  
For his part the cause of his anxiety was also trivial, had he only known it, as it was the same as Hermione's. Since Saturday morning when she had responded to an invitation to be in his company rather than his command, he had maintained a continuous link to her emotions. He told himself it was necessary to monitor her welfare, however in truth he knew it was because he wanted to possess her mind, body and soul.  
  
But pale reflections of her emotions, reduced and dimmed over distance, was all he could allow himself. It was barely enough.  
  
However, at this moment he was torturing himself with what terrible events could be causing the feelings of indecision, fear, anger, sadness and humiliation currently welling up in Hermione. What was Potter doing or saying to her to make her feel this way?  
  
More importantly, what could he do to help her? Had he pushed her too hard, too early into something she was not yet ready for? Was this his fault? Surely she hadn't been foolish enough to talk to Potter alone? But seclusion was necessary for what needed to be a very private talk.  
  
And so his thoughts rolled on, until he felt Hermione's emotions suddenly lurch. It usually indicated she was moving, focused on not feeling but thinking, suppressing what emotional turmoil was going on inside her head to get on with her daily life.  
  
And in a way the silence was worse.  
  
When he had just convinced himself that her emotional blackout was the result of the situation she found herself in being just too terrible to register, and jumped to his feet to find and save her, Hermione walked through his classroom door.  
  
Snape leapt up and hurried to his office door, managing to get out "are you alright, Hermione?" as he stepped out of the door.  
  
Hermione simply felt confused as she said "Of course."  
  
In what seemed like a heartbeat he had crossed the distance between them and was holding her with one hand on her shoulder and one hand tilting her chin up so she had to look at his face. Despite his proximity and what could have been a very restraining hold on her, she felt no fear, only the concern flowing of him, concern for her.  
  
"Are you sure?" he asked softly. She simply nodded.  
  
"I felt your fear just now, and I thought . . ." for the first time in a very long while, words simply failed him.  
  
He released her chin, and she let her head drop. As she leaned forward into his embrace he put his other arm softly around her shoulder. It seemed an eternity since she had felt so safe, so protected.  
  
"I'm so glad you're safe." He whispered into her hair, followed by a gentle kiss to the top of her head, so light it could have been imagined.  
  
Suddenly overwhelmed by the realisation that he actually cared about her, perhaps even loved her, she grasped the front of his robes with both hands and began to weep. She let her legs collapse out from under her, trusting that he would hold her, and she cried, until they ended up as a tangled heap on his classroom floor.  
  
As she wept Snape merely pulled her closer, sensing that to push her away from him now would be a grave mistake. It didn't matter that she was a student, virtually sitting in his lap, or that he, as a teacher, had his arms around her and his face resting in her hair, with the classroom door wide open. All that mattered right now was that she needed him.  
  
She didn't need him as a commodity, or a convenience, or to be used or manipulated then disguarded, she needed him as another person. As someone she could lean on, trust in, and not be judged by. It was a long time since he had been required, or rather felt compelled, to give comfort to another human being. And he had forgotten just how wonderful it felt to be needed.  
  
Enveloped in this parody of a lover's embrace, brought about by an act as far from love as was possible to imagine, Snape began to drift away to dreams of the world that might have been, if only . . . Carried by the sweet smell of patchouli in her hair and the warmth of her body he let himself imagine what could possibly be, but never would or should come to pass.  
  
Words of reassurance and love formed on his lips - he wanted to tell her that he would protect her, that he would never let any harm come to her again, that everything would be alright, that she'd never need shed another tear, that he would love her for all eternity, and she never need be afraid again. But he knew those absolute promises were not in his power to make and keep.  
  
So he said nothing, and kept the sweet nothings inside of himself, and simply rocked her gently from side to side, like a little child until her sobs began to subside.  
  
* * *  
  
Down in the kitchens, Harry was eating an early breakfast as the house elves scurried round preparing the four tables for the Sunday morning breakfast that would begin in a little over two hours. He had been sitting in the common room when the House notices for the day had been delivered by a Hogwarts owl. This was common practice to save the teachers work running after students when they were all so busy. Prefects checked the notices and handed the individually addressed ones to their recipients before or at breakfast, and general notices were displayed and pointed out in the common room.  
  
However when the common room was empty, there was nothing to stop Harry checking the notices out of curiosity, which was how he came to find that there was a notice addressed solely to him amongst the bundle.  
  
Opening it curiously his heart missed a beat when he noted it was from Dumbledore. When he read it properly and realised Dumbledore wanted to see him in his office at 10am, he forgot to breathe. This looked bad, despite what Hermione had told him last night, for Harry knew full well that Dumbledore was aware of a great deal of what went on in his school, without needing to be told.  
  
Harry had figured out due to an incident in the sixth year that Dumbledore wasn't infallible, and that when he didn't know he just gave a good mysterious twinkle and winged it. Yet mysterious-find-out-as-I-go-but- clueless and mysterious-didn't-think-I'd-know-that-and-don't-ask-how-i-do- omniscent were so similar in the twinkliness that he could never really be sure.  
  
All he could do was run over his responses, alibis, and remind himself of Hermione's assurance that she had reported nothing to him, and that if he actually knew and intended him to punish him, he would have been dragged of by now.  
  
He was only sure of two things right now.  
  
The first was that there was nothing to do right now but stay out of the way, and show up on time. And brood until then.  
  
The second was that he wasn't letting them throw him out without a fight. This was his home.  
  
He took a casual sip of his morning tea, and sat back.  
  
* * *  
  
Back in the dungeon, Hermione's sobs had finally slowed and her breathing returned to normal. She had cried not for the pain she had felt, but for what she had lost, the innocence, the security, the certainty, the safe haven and the simple view of the world where good won over evil.  
  
She was still holding the paperback that had caused the outburst initially in her hand, and Snape had to prise it from her fist. Looking at his prize, he chuckled softly, the vibrations running through her body, before muttering,  
  
"I see you've brought my homework."  
  
She just sniffed and buried her face in his robes a little further.  
  
He lifted her slight frame easily and set her on her feet, brushing the hair out of her face, but leaving her to straighten her own robes. He extricated himself carefully from his grip, and led her by the hand into his office, and sat her down. He realised she was still shaking, so moved away to pour a glass of calming potion. He always kept a supply in his office, not that children had a habit of going into hysterics in his presence, but should it ever occur he wanted them to end as soon as possible.  
  
Only adding a few drops to water, he handed her the glass and watched as she drank it without even asking what was in the glass.  
  
Once the potion had taken its effect a little she leaned back in the chair and said with a half smile,  
  
"Only calming potion has that distinctive yellow colour and smell of attar."  
  
Snape smiled back, his lip curling in his habitual teaching sneer. "And veneno funus. Its smell is often listed as roses, but that is a misnomer for attar."  
  
"Isn't a detail like that important? I mean, shouldn't they make sure it right?"  
  
"One would think so, but perhaps we share a different worldview to the . . . rest of the world."  
  
"Probably."  
  
"Veneno funus is undetectable one hour after death, so it is a highly illegal poison. This means that very few accredited authors/researchers are allowed to do any research on it, so accurate details are hard to come by."  
  
"Then how are you so well informed?"  
  
"I have a vial, enough for one dose, locked in my rooms. For personal use, were I able."  
  
"Oh, here we go again."  
  
"We did have a deal. I intend to hold you to it."  
  
"I agreed to alleviate your suffering if you helped me get my life back. Does collapsing into tears on your floor look like you help up your end of the deal?"  
  
She was remarkably laid back through this bartering over his life, but then that just showed that he brewed a good calming potion. Just then her stomach growled.  
  
"You should head up to breakfast. Get changed, if I'm not mistaken, those are yesterday's clothes, and come back in a bit. We'll carry on then."  
  
"I refuse to kill you, and you send me away. Slytherins truly are perverse."  
  
She had a wry smile on her face, her head cocked to one side, giving her a rather indolent look, relaxed but intent on him.  
  
"And Gryffindors truly are arrogant. I'm sending you away because you smell."  
  
She made a small noise half way between indignation and disbelief.  
  
"Miss Granger," he continued in mock seriousness, "you should learn that no insult is below my level. Now go."  
  
She went. Grinning. But she went.  
  
In fact, between the calming potion and the knowledge of just how deeply Severus Snape cared for her, she was deliriously happy. Relaxed and satisfied, she walked lightly, which was how she came to collide head on with Draco Malfoy, his goons at his elbows.  
  
"Well," he drawled, "if it isn't a mudblood where she doesn't belong. What's going on here, Granger?"  
  
"Go to hell Malfoy," she spat, more intimidated than she cared to let on.  
  
Malfoy moved a step closer. "On my way, mudblood, but not for a good while yet. What's wrong, am I spoiling your afterglow? Now you've tasted the pleasures of the flesh, you'll have whoever'd take you? Is Snape really that desperate? Desperate enough to fuck the mudblood Gryffindor whore that the worst enemy of his Master had first? Can't make for good sex, you know desperation."  
  
Another step closer. Almost touching her now. Inside she was screaming with fear, pleading to any deity that could hear that this was too unfair, howling for Severus to come and save her.  
  
"Y'know, I'm always available,"  
  
"Not interested." The calming potion was imposing an artificial calm on her manner and features, not allowing any of her inner turmoil to come out. And her equilibrium really seemed to be irking Malfoy.  
  
At a flick of his finger, Crabbe and Goyle moved to each side of her, and Malfoy had pushed her back against the wall of the corridor, when a harsh voice sounded;  
  
"Let her go or die."  
  
No-one who heard it doubted the seriousness of that voice. The three Slytherins moved away to reveal Snape standing there, wand drawn, a look of homicidal fury written in ever line of his face.  
  
"Go." He commanded, and they went.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked much more softly, pocketing his wand. "What were they up to?"  
  
"I think Malfoy's father must have put him up to testing me and my reactions. It's the support we need for out theory that's totally objective." Thinking was much better than thinking.  
  
Snape nodded, looking at her like she was going to collapse, or cry, or run. So she smiled and told him, "I'm not making your mistake. I'm not going to give them my life in any way shape or form. But I would like it if you walked me back to the tower."  
  
He gave his assent with a nod, and offered her his arm. As they walked, it became obvious that he had cast an invisibility charm around them, because no-one even looked at Hogwart's most hated professor walking arm in arm with Hogwart's brightest star, both smiling.  
  
He stopped just before the portrait hole and murmured, "I'll wait by the corner there. Take as long as you like."  
  
Hermione nodded her thanks, and walked into the tower.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry paused at the stone gargoyle to give the password ('aniseed balls') and stepped on the moving staircase that took him up to the waiting room outside Dumbledore's office. Immediately the door to the circular office opened, and the Headmaster's voice called him in.  
  
"Ah, Harry," he said welcomingly, and pointed to a chair. "we haven't had a chat in ages. How are things?"  
  
Harry shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. He was perfectly aware that Dumbledore's demeanour could change at any moment, and that he wasn't safe until he made it out of the room. Not even then. But it was a good start to the conversation.  
  
"As good as they can be when the resident megalomaniac has a hit list with you at the top of it."  
  
"Yes well, but otherwise?"  
  
"Fine, Quidditch and NEWTs are keeping me busy."  
  
"I see. Well there might be one more item to add to that list in the future, if you were willing?"  
  
"Don't see why not." Anything that kept him out of Hermione's way was good in his book.  
  
"You are aware of Professor Snape's role as a double agent, yes, of course you are. Well he has been requested by Voldemort to give you an initiation to the Dark Arts, for purposes yet unknown. We think he is planning something major, something involving these lessons for you. To gain more information, we need to play along. Voldemort had no way of verifying what goes on in the lessons, but he can tell if you have them.  
  
"So what I plan is to set up the lessons, and have Professor Snape instruct you in some more obscure methods of defence, to give Voldemort the impression that Professor Snape is following instructions. With your agreement of course."  
  
"Sounds like it could be interesting."  
  
"Good I'm glad you see it that way. I know the two of you have your differences, but we all have to make sacrifices to get along."  
  
Harry just nodded.  
  
"Well I expect you have Quidditch practice or some such thing."  
  
"Yes, I do."  
  
"Then don't let an old man hold you up."  
  
"Good day, Headmaster." With which words Harry got up and left.  
  
Dumbledore stared after him with a worried look on his face. The boy was relieved to be going, which meant he had something to hide, and his manner had been withdrawn, indicating he hid it out of guilt and fear of discovery.  
  
He didn't know what it was, but he had an idea. Severus had not divulged the identity of Miss Granger's attacker, apparently she had refused to tell him a name, but Dumbledore was sure that Snape knew.  
  
And now Dumbledore had a feeling he knew too, and he didn't like the conclusions that feeling led to.  
  
He didn't like them at all.  
  
* * *  
  
Snape waited patiently for half an hour for Hermione to emerge once again from the Gryffindor tower. He escorted her back to his rooms where they began working on their theories and research again after a proper breakfast.  
  
It was to be the start of a pattern of co-working that was to settle over them in the weeks to come, work that looked as if it was going to be highly fruitful.  
  
And it was only that evening after Hermione had gone, if the feeling of her in the room had not, that Snape realised what had happened today.  
  
Instead of pushing her away as he intended, dissuading her from loving him, he had pulled her closer to him, and lost the last vestiges of his reserve in the process. From here on in, they were inexorably linked.  
  
He smiled as he felt her emotions free-fall into sleep. When men make plans, the gods just laugh.  
  
A/N:  
  
Okay - veneno funus means literally 'force death by poison'  
  
The 'when men make plans, the gods just laugh' is a quote from somewhere, but I can't remember. If you know, let me know too. It's bugging me.  
  
Prepare for a rather large time jump (2-3 months) next chapter - tardis at the ready then . . .  
  
And to 'Unstable' thanks for the review - you are the reason that I'm updating at 1.30 am, oh yeah, and I'm an insomniac. But write more anyway . . . as for plot, I've read lots of other HG/SS fics and wanted to do something different.  
  
If you want really different, though, check out Voldemort being defeated by a kick to the balls in Geena's 'A Perfect Match'. It was surreal for me!!  
  
Lol - Photis. 


	13. Revelations

Chapter 11: Revelations.  
  
Hermione slammed the book shut, letting out what could only be described as a heartfelt sigh, and sat back in her chair.  
  
From her desk at the door, Madame Pince gave her a stern glare. Hermione returned it with equanimity. The library was virtually deserted on account of it not only being . . . well . . . the library, but this was also the last weekend before the Christmas holidays began, and all third years and above were in Hogsmeade, catching up on shopping. Hermione had chosen her moment carefully for privacy, tucked well away in the restricted section, and did not like the fact that Madame Pince had set up the system of library mirrors so that she could keep an eye on even this secluded spot.  
  
After seven years of dedicated study and good behaviour, Hermione felt she was entitled to a little lassitude, including the slamming of at least one book when necessary, and resented the intrusion. To block it out from her end she lowered her head to the desk and flipped her hair over her head, letting it cascade down onto the polished wood surface.  
  
How had this happened? How had this ever happened? She had been so sure that this could not happen, and yet here she was, in the library, slamming books because it had happened. The more important question was what on Earth was she going to do now, but at the moment she was still hung up on how?  
  
Well, that was a stupid question, she knew how. What she didn't know was how it had gone so wrong.  
  
After that Sunday where she had cried in Severus's arms things had calmed down somewhat, as her emotions had begun to settle into a more stable form. She had still been low on occasions, the disbelief at what happened making her feel cold and hollow inside sometimes late at night, but for the most part it was an upward journey, without too many downward slides to recover from.  
  
The fact that she was working the majority of her walking hours had undoubtedly helped, as did Snape's virtually unquestioning acceptance of any idea she got into her head, even concerning him.  
  
Which was how she had ended up unpacking the boxes kept in what she called the bedroom, and he called the storeroom. It had started when she had needed an antiquated piece of equipment, a whirring hygrometer, that had yet to be unpacked, and was lost in the sea of cardboard.  
  
Due in no uncertain measure to a good dollop of curiosity borrowed from Crookshanks, she had soon stopped looking for the hygrometer and had just started sorting through the boxes. Several days later she was still sorting through the boxes, and because it seemed such a shame to pack Severus's life away once she had uncovered it, she began to transfigure pieces of furniture to fill the room, and place his things on.  
  
It had all begun fairly innocently when she had discovered a collection of polished stones, which turned out to be an assortment of carvings in obsidian, fluorite, jade and nacre in Celtic designs, covered in runes. They had captured her interest and imagination, given that Arithmancy was one of her favourite subjects, and she had asked him about them.  
  
It turned out that they were not magical artefacts, but works of art, created by Severus's sister. He had told her, fairly grudgingly, that his sister had been a Hufflepuff who held no higher ambition in life that to be an artist. The symbols themselves were accurate, but their combinations based more on aesthetics than on meaning, and the designs came from Thaliae Snape's mind and memories rather than a book. He explained that he had come into possession of them as once their parents had discovered this 'unsuitable' aspiration, Thaliae was banned from continuing her artistic pursuits and told to think about a sensible career, or getting married well.  
  
The house elves had been instructed to search Thaliae's possessions when they tidied her room, and when following such direct orders, however much they liked the 'Young Mistress Snape' were obliged to ferret through all her hiding places. Very soon after her OWLs, which of course she passed with high grades, Thaliae began giving her finished works to Severus or destroying them. The house elves had duly ignored the art collection in Severus's room, as they had no orders concerning that, and thus proved that it does pay in life to have friends in low places.  
  
So when Severus had left his home after what had presumably been one hell of an argument (he refused to say for certain), he had taken them with him. This was also how he had a portrait of himself and his sister sitting on a riverbank one summer's day, simply enjoying life, radiant with happiness. The beauty of the piece had taken Hermione's breath away, as it had been painted with such feeling. It had been a deliberate gift to Severus from Thaliae for Severus's eighteenth birthday, and the story behind the painting only made her love it all the more.  
  
Thaliae had been two years older than Severus, and on leaving Hogwarts had taken a job in the Ministry to support her while she pursued her dreams of being an artist, and had refused the virtually arranged marriage into which her parents had tried to push her. From that point on, while Thaliae was not disowned, she was unwelcome at home, and the few occasions she visited were distinctly uncomfortable for all concerned.  
  
However when Severus had reached the age of eighteen, he had received an allowance left to him by his grandfather in his last will and testament. As he had already been receiving an allowance from his parents since the age of seventeen, Severus had instructed Gringotts to transfer the entirety of his annual allowance from his grandfather to Thaliae. While he might have liked the money to keep up with his opulent friends, it meant Thaliae could leave the job she disliked and follow her heart.  
  
The painting had been a record of the day when Severus told her what he had planned to do for her, and under the blazing summer sun, Thaliae had told him that whatever happened in the future, she would never forget his gift, and never turn him away. Looking back, he had said, it was almost like she had had a premonition of what was to come, but then, since his encounter with Lupin in werewolf form in the fifth year, the signs had been there to see. In fact it wasn't long after he left school that he became a fully fledged death eater.  
  
But when Hermione had asked what had happened to Thaliae, Severus had just shaken his head sadly and said that the war had caused a lot of disruption and he had lost touch. He knew that she was alive, and that she had chosen to leave the British Wizarding community for pastures new some time after Voldemort's first downfall. The money was still transferred to her account by Gringotts and withdrawn regularly, which he took as an indication that she was carrying on with her life. Despite her promise of returning the unconditional love and acceptance he had shown her, Severus never felt that he should look up Thaliae. She had always been so peaceful, happy, and enamoured with the beauty she found all around her, that he did not want to bring his darkness into her life. She had been one of the things he forfeited voluntarily as a part of his penance. A penance which he had yet to succeed in completing.  
  
The carvings were not the only echoes of his past Hermione had found - there had been a whole box filled with photographs of Severus and Thaliae growing up. Seemingly part of the disowning process had involved his parents removing every single written or photographic shred of evidence that Severus had ever existed from their house. Rather than leave them to be burned, he had boxed and reduced them and never looked at them again.  
  
Hermione had other ideas however, and had procured several photo albums, beginning to sort the photographs into a time-line of Severus Snape's life. She had discovered a neat little spell in the library that caused a photo to declare the date and location of when it was taken, and by casting 'enarro' on the photos en masse, was able to sort them into a chronological order. She transferred one to each page, and neatly recorded the details of place and date in gold lettering by the side of the photograph.  
  
It was by doing this that she discovered that Severus had visited nearly every European country, as well as Russia, India, and Egypt. He had, however, never visited America, as Hermione had. The summer before she began at Hogwarts her parents had surprised her with a trip to Florida. And although the perkiness and fabricated nature of the theme parks would not normally be her thing, she had loved every minute.  
  
At ten she was just tall enough to get on the rides, and she threw herself whole-heartedly into enjoying the parades of Disney characters and discovering every single one of the tourist traps that were there. She loved everything about that holiday, from the grand displays of fireworks and laser shows (novelties back them) right down to the way the maintenance workers had doors marked 'Cast Only'. But in a strange way it had marked the end of an era, as she suspected her parents had expected it to.  
  
The following September she had departed on the Hogwart's express to a new world, and although the physical journey only took her a few hundred miles north to Hogwarts, it marked the beginning of a journey that would eventually remove her entirely from the world her parents knew. Not that she knew it at the time, but she knew it now.  
  
So it had been with some trepidation that Hermione had asked how Severus's parents had treated him during his childhood. The reason for the visits to all over the world, but not America, was that his parents were (and probably still are, he added wryly) incurable social climbers. In the holidays they toured the world on invites from moneyed friends and distant relatives, attending soirees and cocktail parties and formal balls. They also hosted a good few at the estates they owned in Britain and overseas.  
  
Severus had been expected to behave impeccably at these events - to speak politely and clearly, to act with proper courtesy and decorum and restraint at all time, and to dance perfectly. But beside from the lessons growing up in manners and dancing and proper behaviour, he had basically been left to his own devices, and had had full run of the library. He had been bought a wand at the age of six, illegally of course, and had practised magic from that day on, avoiding the Ministry regulations by dint of the Underage magic regulations only applying to those aged 11-17 still at school. Of course had he been found with a wand, his family would have been in serious trouble. But he wasn't Slytherin for nothing and this simple deceit hardly fazed him at all.  
  
So by the time he came to Hogwarts he was by far the most able first year, and knew enough curses to keep those who thought he was a geek away. Within the first term he was known as the quickest draw in the school, shooting with a double barrelled weapon of cutting sarcasm or highly unpleasant hexes. In the case of Gryffindors he tended to use both, just for good measure.  
  
After hearing this Hermione had decided not to include the stiffly formal family portrait in the album, and tucked it in the back cover instead.  
  
At first she had merely stacked the albums on the floor, but after discovering a tiffany lamp, she had transfigured a wall-dresser in art deco style and arranged the carvings around the lamp, and lined the leather bound albums up, so the years they included were displayed on the spines.  
  
Another notable find among his possessions had been a crystal ball. With definite amusement he had told her that at the end of his second year he had chosen his elective classes without reference to his parents, and they had included Muggle Studies. However when his parents had looked at his book list the following summer they had told him that studying anything about the Muggle way of life was pointless, and forced him to change courses. But by the time he had got in contact with Hogwarts, there were only spaces on the Divination course left.  
  
This had led to an eventful study of the arts of divining the future, which ended when the professor involved had refused to have Severus back for the fourth year on account of his extreme scepticism clouding his inner eye, and Severus had taken up Muggle Studies in his fourth year. Hermione and Severus had both spent quite a while comparing stories of divination horrors, and one particularly amusing story of Severus's about floating tealeaves, enchanted to talk and deliver dire predictions from their cup and saucer had Hermione in stitches.  
  
My mutual consent the crystal ball had been repacked and shoved in a corner, on account of neither of them really wanting to remember their failures at divination. When Hermione confessed that she had given hers to Neville after he broke his by letting it roll down the stairs to the boys' dormitories, Severus took the chance to get it out of his life for good, and donated it to 'the worthy cause that is Longbottom, as recompense for seven years of insults. I hope he enjoys it as much as I enjoyed the insults.' Despite herself, Hermione had laughed.  
  
She supposed that the determination to study the Muggle way of doing things accounted for the collection of vinyl records he owned, along with the record player, which did not work. He told her that at his former home all that had been needed was a simple enchantment on the plug to supply a perpetual source of current to it, and it did not matter that there was no electrical connection. However at Hogwarts, the atmosphere was so charged with magic that the power was drawn right out of the device and dissipated to the nearest spell caster, so the record player had never worked since he had moved here.  
  
Hermione though it was just one more indication of the darkness, actual and metaphorical, that he had found himself in for all these years.  
  
The record player itself had posed no real trouble when she considered the problem long enough, and inspired by memories of Captain Kirk aboard the starship Enterprise, she designed a magical 'force field' that protected the device from the surrounding magic and drew enough in to actually power it, thus killing two birds with one stone. Once it was fully functional the player was moved into the main room, and stood on another piece of Hermione's specially designed furniture along with the records, and needless to say, they derived a good bit of use from it.  
  
Of course not all of the time had been spent sharing histories, or rooting through Severus's belongings, and these moments of sitting together amidst an ever decreasing pile of cardboard, close, but never touching, had formed the much needed breaks in the countless hours of research and calculations that took up most of their time together.  
  
In a little over two months the work had progressed at quite a rate until they had reached a stage where practical testing was necessary. Eventually they had surmised that the curse which had rebounded on Voldemort had not been totally ineffectual against Harry.  
  
What the ancient magic had done was not to render the curse ineffectual, but to establish a connection between man and boy where some spark of life that had been killed in Harry was replaced by a part of Voldemort's energy, a process which had transferred a good few of Voldemort's powers over to Harry. The measures Voldemort had taken to gain immortality had prevented this transfer from resulting in his death, and left some aspect of physical form attached to his spirit; while Harry had received a scar that would not heal because it was not truly a part of him, so would always stand out.  
  
Between them and the texts provided by (unbeknown to either) Dumbledore they worked out the exact nature of the connection that still existed, and had finally succeeded in ascertaining the method Voldemort was using to exploit it. This had been done by endless reams of arithmantic charts and equations, exploring the probability of every scenario; as well as extrapolating the effect each scenario would have on the magical flows within Harry, and comparing this to what Hermione saw.  
  
Now they had an answer to how Harry was being controlled, they were fairly sure they could turn it against Voldemort; all they were lacking was details of his ultimate plan for them all.  
  
In short, they were on a roll.  
  
Yet the past months had not been all self-congratulation either. Servers had been summoned to Voldemort on five occasions, the first just after Hermione's encounter with Malfoy, where due to the calming potion, she had appeared distinctly un-traumatised. Voldemort had not been happy - assuming Severus had done too good a job in helping her regain a balanced outlook on life - and more importantly restored her academic focus.  
  
He had seemed mainly concerned that Harry would be able to check the information Voldemort was filtering into his brain, and Severus left him blissfully unaware of the real danger Hermione's intellect posed to him. Despite Severus's assurances that the truce between them was for show only, that it had been necessary to prevent suspicions being raised, he had been badly tortured. Barely able to walk, he had staggered back to his rooms, where Hermione had been waiting (this time with his permission), and would have collapsed except that he felt fainting into a female student's arms was somehow shameful.  
  
Hermione had done her best to heal him, and soothe him, until he actually fell asleep this time, his head resting in her lap, pride and dignity forgotten in face of the simple comfort she offered.  
  
Another such of these occasions had been after Harry's first 'dark arts' lesson. The lesson itself had followed an unexpected path, with Harry, most likely with a wish-list courtesy of Voldemort had asked Snape to teach him the 'Metus' series of hexes, that caused the victim to see and feel the things that they feared the most. Snape had been wary on account of these spells having little defensive value, and had deliberately mis-taught Harry the spells. Almost immediately after the unproductive evening had ended, Voldemort had summoned Severus to him and demonstrated the proper casting of every single Metus.  
  
The things that Severus had murmured about in his sleep that night still made Hermione's blood run cold. But the reason he had been so distraught that night when he returned was that the some images he had seen had involved Hermione being harmed and killed while he stood helpless by, forced to watch, or even participate. No doubt he felt he had exposed her as even more of a target than she already was, put her in danger, but as she whispered to him once he was asleep, she was glad he cared; that that was the most important thing to her.  
  
That first dark arts lesson was the only one she had observed, invisibly of course. Severus had invited her along to watch him have 'a little fun humiliating Potter', which he had, and then had paid for. She had gone to watch out of curiosity, and truth be told, a malicious desire to see Harry get his comeuppance.  
  
Part of her recovery had centred on shifting the blame for everything that had happened, to her, to Severus, to Harry, to most people around her to Voldemort. Intellectually she knew that Harry didn't deserve her hate, but that changed very little for her. She had forced herself to act as if she had forgiven him, but she couldn't shake the feeling that Voldemort must be working on something that had already been there in Harry's mind, magnifying it out of all proportion. That in some small part the responsibility for his behaviour lay with Harry and Harry alone.  
  
She supposed she would never know the truth.  
  
But she knew that when she sat next to Harry in lessons, or was shut in the same room as him like that lesson, her breathing wanted to quicken. She was always fighting down a panic when she was near him, not that Harry would attack her, but that Harry would not be strong enough to resist Voldemort, and Voldemort would attack her. She took her security from the presence of others, and not from faith in Harry, or his regret.  
  
Hence whilst she blamed Voldemort for raping her, she blamed Harry for being too weak to fight for her, and for covering his tracks so thoroughly. He was still everybody's golden boy - their hero and last hope of their saviour. She blamed him because he fought Voldemort for Dumbledore's stone, for Ginny's diary, for Cedric's proper burial, and won; but for her honour, her sanity, her virginity, he didn't fight hard enough.  
  
And so she went to no more 'lessons', and began to sit Ron between herself and Harry during lessons.  
  
But despite all that had passed, all the water under the bridge, she was back where she had started, alone, lost and scared with no-one to talk to or confide in. All the hours in Severus's company seemed to have become meaningless, now that it had all gone so wrong, once again.  
  
She was saved from a descent into total depression by a hand gently lifting the curtain of hair with which she was shielding herself.  
  
"Pulling another all-nighter? That can't be good for you?" questioned the soft voice she had come to love.  
  
Reluctantly she looked up at him, briefly meeting his eyes, before looking down again at her hands folded on the desk before her. But that brief glimpse was all Severus needed to see something was terribly wrong. The imprints on her forehead said she had been sitting like that for quite a time, and the desperate sorrow and hurt in her eyes was all to clear.  
  
Moving around her he took the seat next to her, so as not to tower over her, and asked in a voice full of concern,  
  
"What's happened? What's wrong? Hermione?"  
  
When no answer was forthcoming, he gently placed a hand under her chin, tilting it up so he was looking at her directly, before adding, "You can tell me anything, you know that don't you?"  
  
A few more moments of forced eye contact, and she opened her mouth uncertainly, appearing to have difficulty finding the words she needed. After swallowing several times she whispered, barely audible,  
  
"I'm pregnant."  
  
TBC  
  
A/N:  
  
Okay, so I guess you saw that coming, but as for what will happen. . .who knows.  
  
Anyway, hope you liked the sweeping plot arc, it would have taken too long to get through that entire plot in direct dialogue. I know it might seem a little of-point, but I think some details will be important later on.  
  
Right details and stuff - Don't know why Hermione needs a whirring hygrometer, as it actually measures wind speed, but it sounds suitably strange to fit the text, so humour me.  
  
In Roman mythology Thaliae was a muse of comedy or light verse, a suitable opposite to everything Severus is.  
  
'Enarro' is the latin verb to narrate a story.  
  
'Metus' literally means fear.  
  
Thank you for all the reviews, you don't know happy they make me . . . Bye - Photis 


	14. Mercabilis

Chapter 12: Mercabilis  
  
Severus blinked, running a quick edit in his mind of all the tings he wanted to say. Still not releasing her chin he settled for "Pardon me?" as nothing else really seemed to do.  
  
Hermione for her part, looked into his eyes with an almost pleading expression, and seemed unable to repeat herself.  
  
Having reached an impasse, Severus too wary of the surroundings and her response to ask any of the questions racing through his mind, and Hermione rendered incapable of speech by fear of what his silence meant, neither spoke for a moment.  
  
After a pause that seemed to stretch to eternity, Severus released her chin and said, in a flat measured tone, "We should continue this discussion in my office."  
  
Again, Hermione was struck with the fear that he was going to desert her, or force her secret into the open, by the strange formality of his tone, a formality she had thought long since abandoned when they were in private.  
  
In the time it had taken her to process these thoughts, Severus (was it her imagination or was he turning back into Professor Snape before her eyes) had risen and began moving towards the exit. Banishing the book she had been reading back to its rightful place on the shelf, she rose to follow him, subconsciously falling in step a few paces behind him, like a student being led to his office for punishment.  
  
Once they were clear of the library and the watchful glare of Madame Pince, he fell back a few paces to walk by her side, carefully masked concern visible on his face as he looked down at her. But Hermione, who was studying her feet, did not notice this. Severus sighed inwardly, and settled for steering her around the obstacles she did not see by light touches of her elbow, than trying to pull her out of the depression into which she seemed to have sunk. That needed a setting more private that the corridors, so he settled for increasing his pace, and hurrying her along with him as well.  
  
When they finally reached his classroom he had sorted his thoughts into a plan of attack, and led her through to his office. But when he sat down his desk and gestured for her to take the seat on the other side, the numb look on her face morphed into an expression of pain.  
  
She sat immediately and dropped her head, once again folding her hands in her lap and studying them. She evidently assumed that she was now banned from his rooms.  
  
"Hermione, look at me. Please."  
  
It wasn't quite his teaching voice, but the command was there nevertheless. After a moment and the please, she complied, obviously fighting back tears.  
  
"Hermione, listen to me carefully. I have invested too much time and effort in getting you to like me, to push you away now. Not to mention that seeing you, being near you, is the highlight of my day." At this he paused and a smile of delight lit up her face. So he continued.  
  
"You know that's the truth. (A nod.) But Madame Pince will have heard every word said in the library - generally one of her more useful skills - but in this case meaning that we will be receiving a visit from the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey in fairly short order. Were they to find us in my rooms, Minerva and Poppy at least would jump to the wrong conclusions. Hence our being here."  
  
"Why not the headmaster, I mean, why won't he draw the wrong conclusions?"  
  
"I informed him of events - giving no names of course. I suspect he had drawn his own inferences from Potter's changing behaviour, but we have not discussed the matter further. He saw no reason to inform anyone else as he felt your wishes should be respected, and because you seemed content to talk it out with me."  
  
It seemed relief was becoming the predominant emotion in Hermione's mind as she listened to the barrage of information.  
  
"I don't want to insult you by asking this, but am I correct in assuming that Potter is the father? (Another nod.) Then I have to ask how this happened. You told me . . ."  
  
Seeing her open her mouth, Severus swiftly ceded control of the conversation.  
  
"My period started on the Friday after, which was why I said I didn't need a potion."  
  
Snape nodded, recalling he had offered to obtain some supplies of Morning- After potion for her. The potion itself took a week to brew - far too long for their purposes - so he would have had to appropriate some from the infirmary, under Madame Pomfrey's watchful eye. When Hermione had told him it was unnecessary, he had gladly dropped the point, to avoid the inevitable complications including Madame Pomfrey in the loop would cause.  
  
"But in that book I was reading it said that if you get pregnant two or three days before you period then sometimes it's too late too stop menstruation, but you remain pregnant. Especially if you don't want to be pregnant. So I didn't think anymore about it, until I started feeling sick every morning, that I got worried. So I did a verificum charm on myself, and it's true. But I still can't believe it."  
  
At which point she seemed to run out of steam, and lapsed back into silence. Snape took charge again, aware of the time restraints on him.  
  
"So I presume you want this to be known to those who must know as a result of an . . . indiscretion . . . on your part and a lack of due care, rather than the truth. (Again a nod) And to leave the father undisclosed in the guise of protecting his identity (A smaller nod) Very well."  
  
"They'll think it's yours won't they?" concern threaded through her voice.  
  
"More than likely, yes. But Dumbledore knows the truth, so will resist pressure to fire me, and protest my innocence for me. It's not as if he's lacking in practise at either."  
  
This raised a smile out of Hermione, at least.  
  
Severus looked up as there was a knock on the door. "Ah, the show begins," he muttered in a mock-serious tone.  
  
Then louder in a voice totally devoid of emotion: "Enter."  
  
Hermione stood respectfully as the predicted three teachers did just that.  
  
* * *  
  
Meanwhile, in the seclusion of a deserted classroom in the North Tower, Harry Potter was preparing. To be more precise, Harry Potter's body was preparing - his mind was in free-fall, suppressed beneath Voldemort's. Under his control, Potter was running through a barrage of curses that normally even the most dedicated Dark-Arts practitioners took several years to master. It seemed that an unusual aptitude for the Dark Arts was another 'talent' transferred, or more accurately copied to Harry, that fateful night at Godric's Hollow.  
  
The pile of rats that had dies some hideous way was slowly growing, and the squawking contents of the cage were trying desperately to escape, as slowly but surely every last one was removed and killed. These practises were becoming increasingly more useful than Snape's Dark-Arts lessons - even now he had begun teaching properly, for fear of reprisals.  
  
This was partly because of Potter's growing skill, and partly because Voldemort was fine-tuning his control over the boy. He could now make him perform any task by projection the entirety of his astral self into Potter's body. It felt rather nice to leave the engineered shell he had created and inhabited out of necessity in favour of the young flesh and blood of a seventeen-year-old boy. A famous one at that; girls had a habit of falling willingly at his feet given the slightest signal - and it was a long time since Voldemort had had a willing partner.  
  
The only drawback was that Potter's body had to learn to perform the task that Voldemort's mind requested of it. The psychic connection between the two did not yet guarantee that 'mind over matter' would prevail, and Voldemort had learnt not to expect this newly-acquired body to perform especially complex tasks on the first time of asking.  
  
Hence this practise.  
  
And so, Voldemort in Potter's body continued his variations on the ways to kill rats (instead of people) and the flows of maniacal delight and raw power that would normally have alerted Snape to his presence, went undetected, so close was his concentration on the situation infolding in his office.  
  
* * *  
  
Many floors down, Albus Dumbledore was motioning for Hermione to seat herself once again. She was relieved to see he had a definite twinkle in his eye, as he said;  
  
"My dear, thanks to Madame Pince's excellent ears, I have been informed that there is something of a . . . situation here. I'm sure you and Professor Snape are well on the way to working something out -"  
  
Hermione noticed at this Dumbledore caught Severus's eye and was rewarded with an almost imperceptible nod, and continued;  
  
"- but if I could ask you to indulge an old man, would you start at the beginning once again?"  
  
Hermione nodded her head and drew a breath in, taking advantage of the distraction caused as Dumbledore began to conjure up three more chairs, light the fire, and settle himself, for all the world as if she were about to launch into and entertaining tale. A glance at Severus confirmed that was exactly what she should do, though the grim set of his face told her he expected it to be anything but entertaining.  
  
"Well." It seemed like a safe opening, "I don't suppose you need any details on how I got pregnant . . . so all we were talking about was how I was going to finish my schooling, and we were waiting for you anyway."  
  
There - she had done it. Passed the whole deal of as inconsequential. Now all that remained was to see if the two women bought it, and if Dumbledore was going to let her get away with it.  
  
In fact, the casual way she trotted it out produced and explosion from the other two women present. Madame Pomfrey edged in with,  
  
"Knowing the father's name is not a detail!" just before Professor McGonagall exclaimed,  
  
"You can't possibly be thinking of keeping it?!"  
  
Seeing Hermione regarding both of the women in shock, Dumbledore neatly filled the silence.  
  
"As to the matter of the father, I believe in assuming that I already know the young man's identity?"  
  
Both Severus and Hermione answered in tandem, both with a simple yes.  
  
The headmaster turned to Severus and asked,  
  
"Is it the individual we spoke of recently?"  
  
Severus affirmed this with a nod.  
  
"I see." Turning back from facing Severus to face Hermione again: "The choice as to whether you carry this pregnancy to term is entirely yours. How far along are you?"  
  
"About nine weeks."  
  
Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"So . . . that puts your due date some time in June - a little close to the NEWTs, as I'm sure you already noticed. Well then, that leaves us the option of you taking your exams early or late. Late would probably mean repeating your final year and graduating with the current sixth year - sleepless nights are not conductive to study.  
  
"Early should be possible some time in April - I have no doubt that you could be ready for then with a little extra work, should you chose that option. Minerva?"  
  
"Yes I suppose that could be organised."  
  
"Good, good. Severus?"  
  
"Miss Granger's potions ability has been up to standard since her fifth year." The gruff tone did little to disguise the softening of his face when he saw Hermione smile.  
  
"Excellent. Now my dear, we shall stop talking about you and leave you to your discussion with Professor Snape. I'd like you to come to my office when you've made a decision. The password is 'raspberry ripple'."  
  
With which words he stood to leave, nodded to Severus, and departed, leaving Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey no choice but to follow him, and Hermione and Severus alone again.  
  
As she left, Professor McGonagall turned and said,  
  
"Miss Granger, should you need anyone . . . else . . . to talk to, you know where to find me."  
  
Her tone was conciliatory, but her face looked if anything, disapproving.  
  
She obviously remembered the start of the unusual Snape/Granger association had been about nine weeks ago, and this twinned with Dumbledore's question to Snape over the father's identity, had given her the impression she was leaving the two parents alone to discuss the future of their child.  
  
In a way she was right. Severus knew that Hermione would need support over the coming months that she could not expect to get from the father. And no doubt that should he allow it, Hermione would look to him to fill the void. Now that he thought of it, the prospect was not unpleasant, but for the time being he held his peace.  
  
This was Hermione's decision to make, and so it was up to her to make the first move. He waited while she studied some detail of the fireplace, hoping she knew how proud he was of her. The strength she had just shown was more that he had expected so soon - especially when he knew she was nowhere near as calm as she appeared on the surface.  
  
"I can't just get rid of it. I can't. Whatever happened, it's not the baby's fault."  
  
Severus merely nodded, careful to keep his face totally neutral.  
  
"This is about you as well, not just your baby. Are you sure that's what you want? I'm not trying to sway you either way, but I want to make sure you've considered everything. Minerva's and Poppy's reactions are the kind you're most likely to encounter. They both think that I am the father, and that this will ruin your life."  
  
Again the hurt eyes stared into his.  
  
"Is this about you keeping your job?" A level tone of voice, but anger and tears battling inside of her to be let out first.  
  
Realising his mistake, Severus moved swiftly round the desk and positioned himself so that he was kneeling at the corner of her chair, looking up at her face.  
  
"No, Hermione, it's not. Please believe me when I say that I want only what's best for you.  
  
"To the wizarding world I am a Death-Eater who lied to save his own skin, cleverly fooling Dumbledore and the Ministry. Or worse yet I'm one of his pet projects, like Lupin, that he takes on to prove what a great man he is, seeing through the exterior to the true potential within.  
  
"I'm hated or pitied. I don't care if the world proclaims me a bastard who has taken advantage of a naïve student and forced her to have his child.  
  
"But I care about it if you are going to be concerned by it. Because while they're all saying it about me, they'll be talking about you. The brush they use to paint my name blacker than it already is will be used to paint you the victim; to be pitied, protected, shielded, but damaged in some way.  
  
"Whatever you decide, I will support you, I swear, all I need to know is that you've made an informed choice. I'll even marry you, if you could bear it; Merlin knows I love you -"  
  
Hermione gasped, and looked at him, as he knelt there, his mouth slightly agape in shock at what had just slipped out of his mouth. That's where letting go of your emotions and talking from the heart lands you, Severus, he thought.  
  
Ever so slowly, Hermione seemed to thaw, and moved her hands to cup his upturned face, stroking one prominent cheekbone with her thumb.  
  
"Do you?" she asked in a bare whisper.  
  
  
  
A/N:  
  
Mercabilis - latin term meaning that a situation is negotiable.  
  
Well, was it worth the wait?  
  
Please review -  
  
LOVE IT? HATE IT? TELL ME!!! 


	15. Decisions

Chapter 13: Decisions  
  
"Yes. I love you." He managed to croak out. He lifted himself up so that their faces were almost level, and Hermione knew that if she leaned forward, he would kiss her.  
  
A good part of her wanted to do just that, to embrace him and tell him how much she needed him and loved him, how much it would mean to her if she was no longer alone. But the other part of her, that made her take her wand into the shower (despite the sparks it caused) was screaming that one kiss, just one kiss, was the reason she was here at all, not laughing with her friends on a trip to Hogsmeade.  
  
In her indecision she sat frozen once more, until she felt Severus taking her hands in his and removing them from his face, kissing the back of her right hand and then placing it in her lap. He repeated the gesture with her left hand, this time pressing the palm to his lips and kissing gently, and then on down her fingers, before carefully moving her hand to join the other in her lap. Finally he stood and moved away, leaving Hermione with a tingling sensation spreading up her arms, and a sudden feeling of loss.  
  
Repositioning himself behind the desk he considered her for a moment, then;  
  
"It's okay, I understand, really."  
  
A pause, where he seemed to be battling some inner demons, before he opened his mouth again,  
  
"Just tell me, is it me, or men in general?"  
  
A tear slipped down Hermione's cheek unnoticed. Unnoticed by Hermione, at least. "If I could . . . if I wasn't so . . . I mean . . . it would be you, Severus, if it was anyone. But I can't, not yet."  
  
His face was carefully neutral again, but she knew him well enough to see the hurt that was lurking behind his eyes.  
  
"I do trust you, you know."  
  
At this he smirked slightly, but she continued anyway, to tell him the intimate details of the attack that she had never been able to share with anyone else.  
  
Not because she wanted to prove herself, but because she wanted to. Because she finally felt that she could, and that doing so would release some of the hurt trapped within her.  
  
* * *  
  
After Hermione finished, not on waking alone in the tower, but on encountering him in the corridor during her frantic bid for escape, Severus held a moment's silence, mainly out of respect for the trust that she had just placed in him. Eventually he felt the need to drag the conversation back to the present day.  
  
"There's nothing else I can say except that you're one of the bravest people I've ever met.  
  
"But that doesn't change the fact that you have a hugely important decision to make. At the risk of seeming insensitive, it is one you need to make alone. And soon. Discretion has never been one of Madame Pince's virtues - after all she is by profession a distributor of information. Fairly soon the staff will know, and if we are to contain this knowledge to them, the headmaster must have answers for them, to cut down idle speculation.  
  
"I'm sorry but that's the way it is."  
  
"Do I smell again?" Half-joking, half covering up a much deeper wound and fear of rejection.  
  
"No, your scent is wonderful. And you misunderstand me - I'm not sending you away - just telling you to rely on your own intuition in making this decision. You can do that wherever you feel comfortable."  
  
Being her teacher right now seemed less complicated than trying to be her friend, or maybe more, for the moment.  
  
"Can I go and sort through some more of your boxes? It helps me think."  
  
"Certainly, although I think that all that's left is old clothes and books - there's probably enough space to transfigure in bed, if you're feeling creative."  
  
He stopped, correctly interpreting the reason for the closed, tight look that had come over Hermione's face.  
  
"No - Merlin, no - I didn't mean for anything like that. I just thought that if you will insist on calling it the bedroom, it should have a bed now there's room for one. I apologise. That was tactless."  
  
She gave him a slight nod, relaxing.  
  
"Anyway, go on, you know all the passwords by now. I'll stay here (he indicated a stack of papers) I have all this marking to complete . . ." He sighed somewhat theatrically, then shrugged.  
  
For her part Hermione nodded again - words still seemed to be mostly deserting her and in so doing, turning her into a nodding dog - and unlocked his rooms. Although her faith in his restraint and respect for her was not the issue, she was secretly glad she was entering alone.  
  
Severus, for his part turned to the pile of papers, and began to scrawl copious insults on them in red ink; but it was a task he was not destined to finish.  
  
Before too long had passed, the Dark Mark on his left arm burnt black.  
  
* * *  
  
Of this, though, Hermione remained blissfully ignorant as she sorted through boxes with half her mind and fretted over the possible roads that lay ahead of her. Although she felt in her heart that she wanted this child, her baby, she was having trouble making her head follow her heart. Intellectually it seemed much safer to abort the pregnancy and finish her schooling and head towards a normal life.  
  
But no, there was no chance of a normal life. Her outlook on the world had changed irrevocably and she had altered with it. She would never again inhabit that safe, cosseted ignorance the majority of the world seemed to enjoy, where bad things only happened to other people. She had lost her innocence in every sense of the world since that night.  
  
Not to mention that she was ready to begin developing a working plan to destroy Voldemort and his power - for good this time. In a matter of months she was likely to be one half of the duo that killed Voldemort, or dead in the effort.  
  
'Normal' seemed to be the one option she no longer had. And getting rid of her child would not change that fact.  
  
So that was one decision done with - and she certainly was not going to graduate a year late, when she had the chance to take her NEWTs, and be away from Hogwarts and the intense scrutiny she would find there when her baby was born.  
  
Not to mention that having to repeat a year was one of her worse fears.  
  
Now she was just left with the more serious issue of what to do about - or how to include in her life - Severus. She had always imagined that it would be up to her to make the first move; that the issues of his professorship, her unwillingness with regard to intimacy, and his twin beliefs that he could never deserve her and that no-one could ever love him, would form a barrier to large for him to overcome.  
  
Yet he had. He had confessed his love for her, and offered to marry her, should she find the burden of raising and illegitimate child too great. That in itself would have told her that he loved her, had he said nothing else. But it was still nice to hear it said out loud. It was a very strange situation.  
  
Though - when she considered it - it was not all that strange. They had both been very physical in their contact with eachother; Hermione had soothed Severus as best as she could, given as much of herself to him as he needed. She had cradled his body against hers on more than one occasion, safe in the knowledge that he was too aching and battered to turn the situation into something it was not. And on these instances she had taken solace in knowing that he needed her. On her part, Hermione had been willing to let him embrace her when she was in need of his support, or hold her when she cried, and was grateful that he did that for her.  
  
Besides that, he must know she loved him - he must be able to feel the emotions coming off her every time she saw him. So maybe there was not as much of a barrier between them as she let herself believe. More than that she had realised how much he needed her, even when he wasn't injured. The real wounds were from a lifetime of exclusion, and her acceptance was a lifeline to him.  
  
Yet none of this meant that she had to allow the child to be written of as his - her parents had brought her up to be liberal-minded enough to know that being a single mother was not a sin. And she was still not sure that Severus wanted to live - or was just marking time as best he could until he could escape from life. Somehow, a gut feeling perhaps, she felt that the answer lay somewhere in the remaining boxes, so she continued to sort.  
  
As he had said, it was mainly old clothes and test books from his Hogwarts days (rather out of date in the twenty years since he had been a student), but tucked away in a hideous brown jumper that had seen better days, she found a small package wrapped in paper. Untying the string allowed the paper to come loose revealing a velvet-covered box, and the paper to be a letter written on old parchment.  
  
Being the kind on person that generally read instructions provided before experimenting wildly, Hermione picked up the letter.  
  
Dear Severus, Grandson [the letter read]  
  
I am aware that your father, Lucas, had forbidden all contact with you, but somehow I doubt that you will expose my indiscretion. I have watched my son estrange both his children in his relentless pursuit of everything he thinks he should have, rather than paying attention to what he already has.  
  
Once could be considered unfortunate, but twice makes it definitely his fault. Well, as much his fault as yours. I know you are not without blame in this matter.  
  
When your father disowned you he tried to stop the allowance you received from your grandfather - unsuccessfully, due in no small amount to my insistence that it belonged to you, and had nothing to do with him. Of course, I know and approve of what you do with the money.  
  
That is what convinces me that whatever your past mistakes, they were mistakes and not an expression of your true character. You are still my flesh and blood, and what you have done since realising the error of your ways, makes me proud of that fact.  
  
Severus, I am growing old, and will not be able to leave you anything in my will. In fact I am leaving it all to a friend, Mrs Stzyer, with strict instructions that you will always be shown hospitality there. If I leave it to my son, he will only want more, and this way the next heir in line may reap some benefit.  
  
Yet there is one thing I would like to pass on to you - the Snape family wedding rings. Traditionally they would be passed on to the next in line to replace their existing rings, but I think you will make better use of them, and they will help you reclaim what is rightfully yours, when the time comes. Besides, it is too long since they have actually been used to wed a couple, as I believe they should.  
  
I am sure you already know the legend - but I will set it down here for the record. The two rings are platinum and enchanted anaqua. The two metals are woven together in Celtic designs of eternity. The anaqua appears silver when not worn, but changes colour when worn.  
  
What the colour means is open to the interpretation of the wearer - if it has any true meaning at all. You should place the ring on your finger and declare you name and paternal lineage for four generations (when you have finished reading, grandson) and the anaqua will take its colour, and the ring will be bound to you until death.  
  
Your bride should hold the other ring in her left hand and recite her name and four generations of her maternal lineage, sometime before marriage. The anaqua will glow its colour, but that will not become permanent until you place it on her finger, and exchange vows, in a wedding ceremony.  
  
Just a final note, if the woman's love is not true, the ring will not glow. I assume it was invented to root out the gold-diggers! In my opinion, the closer the colour match, the better. I was red, your grandfather was grey, and I don't need to remind you how we were.  
  
Anyway, these ramblings have made me tired, so I will send you all my love and blessings.  
  
Yours Always,  
  
Morgana Snape  
  
Hermione held the ring box in her hands looking at it for a while, fighting a war in her head. On the one hand it was not her place to interfere in what was not hers, and reading the letter had been an intrusion. All the while she had be organising his possessions she had merely been ordering, sorting, studying and listening to what he wanted to tell her. Opening the ring box would be crossing a line, abusing the trust he had place in her, and that was something she couldn't bear to loose.  
  
On the other hand she had what amounted to a marriage proposal, and this way she would know.  
  
It was always best to know. She opened the lid.  
  
The larger of the two rings looked to have a mother of pear metal interwoven with the platinum. On closer examination the anaqua was much more solid that the shell-like texture of nacre, but it was a diaphanous white that glinted with other colours in the light. The most prominent was a deep maroon that made her think of many things, none of them bad.  
  
Timidly, Hermione took the smaller of the two rings between her thumb and forefinger, and removed it from the case. Placing it in her left hand, she curled her fingers around it and took a deep breath.  
  
Exhaling, she stated, "My name is Hermione Granger, daughter of Kathryn Granger, daughter of Elizabeth Coulson, daughter of Victoria Lawson, daughter of Anabella Mulgrew."  
  
A bright scarlet light glowed through her fingers. However when she tentatively opened her fist the anaqua was glowing white, though close to the colour was not entirely pure as it was flecked with scarlet and gold - her house colours.  
  
The ring was telling her what she should do - for if she had followed her head she would have allows the sorting hat to put her in Ravenclaw, where she would have been properly appreciated, but her heart had led her to Gryffindor. And the ring saw she was a true Gryffindor after all - and saying to follow her heart once again.  
  
Slowly a plan began to form in her mind, ruthless enough for any Slytherin to be proud of, as she returned the ring to its casing and repackaged it in paper. She returned the package to the folds of the jumper and resealed the whole cardboard box, because there was still one last detail to check before she put her plan into action.  
  
Having arrived upon a decision, she was once again galvanised in to action, following a pattern of behaviour that had begun long ago, but had really set in in the past months. Exiting into Severus's office she found it empty, the marking half-completed, and the fire burning low in the grate.  
  
Concluding that he must not have wanted to wait, of pressure her should she emerge without a decision, Hermione headed up towards the headmaster's office as requested, feeling more cheerful than she had in several days.  
  
* * *  
  
Severus Snape however was feeling worse that he had done in months.  
  
He had been summoned to a Dark Revel. Since Voldemort's change of strategy, Snape had not been included in any of these gatherings. Yet tonight it appeared he was not to be spared. The theme for the evening seemed to be brown-haired virgins, suffering violently in their final hours.  
  
Beneath the surface however, the theme was definitely 'Ways to Make Severus Snape Suffer'. After his long reprieve, being forced to participate in this kind of depravity seemed even more vile than he recalled, which was most likely the point.  
  
And every single one of them reminded him of Hermione, the young woman to whom he had so recently professed his love, and then been forced to abandon when he should have been able to wait. That the event was a reminder of Voldemort's power over him was a given.  
  
Still, he reflected, it was probably for the best. Standing here, surrounded by what were his own kind, he saw how wrong it was to take advantage of her misfortune as he had tried to. To trap her into a commitment at this early age, to halt the rise of a bright young star by association with him, just because she made him feel less vulnerable and alone, was nothing short of cruelty. In the long run she would resent him for doing it, and he didn't need to subject either of them to the anguish that would cause. But now, there was nothing to do but wait and hope she had the sense to see it for herself. The only way he could make the situation worse was to retract his offer.  
  
"Snape." The curt tone snapped him out of his reverie, and he turned away from the leering mass to follow Lucius Malfoy out of the room. Through a series of passages and doorways, Severus was conducted to Voldemort himself, once again lounging on his ornate throne.  
  
"Ah, Severus, at last. I trust dragging yourself from the entertainment was not too hard."  
  
"Not at all, my Lord."  
  
"Yes, yes, it always was work before pleasure with you."  
  
Voldemort paused, obviously not expecting anyone to fill the silence.  
  
"So," he continues, "I heard an interesting fact today. That mudblood Potter . . . consorts with . . . is pregnant. Is this correct?"  
  
"Yes my Lord." Privately he pleaded with Hermione for her forgiveness.  
  
"Interesting. Very interesting indeed. I have a special . . . interest . . . in the brat. I've always wanted an heir. You will bring it to me when it is born, Severus."  
  
"Yes, my Lord. But it may be difficult."  
  
"Difficult?" Voldemort's voice had become dangerously calm. "I do not want to hear of difficulties. How difficult is it to stage an attack in which the whore dies and the brat finds it way to me? Or is the problem your conscience? Well, answer."  
  
"Not at all, my Lord. I apologise."  
  
"Good, you may go. I expect you to continue Potter's lesson. You have been doing well . . . of late."  
  
Severus turned and headed for the door, marvelling that he had escaped unscathed. It must be a first.  
  
Severus turned, his stomach tight with apprehension.  
  
"Crucio."  
  
For a moment the world exploded in blinding flashes of light, then the pain set in. After what seemed like hours, everything went dark.  
  
When he awoke he had been dumped unceremoniously in front of the Hogwart's gates. And better yet, it was raining.  
  
  
  
A/N:  
  
Okay, my undying admiration to anyone who can spot the 'Importance of Being Ernest' homage in the chapter. It's one of my favourite lines in literature - I just couldn't resist.  
  
And as too the baby's eye colour; it could be brown . . .  
  
Photis. 


	16. Conversations

A/N: due to the changes in ff.net, the prologue has been changed (chapter 2) again so that the story is now R rated.  
  
Chapter 14: Conversations  
  
As Hermione raised her hand to knock on the door to Dumbledore's office, his voice called, "Come in, Miss Granger."  
  
She opened the door, and involuntarily looked around the decorations of the circular room before stepping fully through it. The room was an assault to the senses of all those curious by nature, and she had never seen it before. Recovering herself she moved to the chair in front of the desk, and at a nod from Dumbledore sat herself in it.  
  
"My dear, when I said you were to come and find me, I did not mean to imply that it had to be today. I have no wish to rush you. That said; have you something to tell me?"  
  
"Yes, Headmaster. The main thing is that I intent to have this baby. I think it's best if I take my NEWTs before, so that I can be free to leave Hogwarts before the birth. I think I'd prefer to be out of the limelight. So . . ."  
  
Dumbledore nodded seriously.  
  
"To be frank, Miss Granger, that's the decision I hoped and expected you would make, and you should know that you have my full support in making it. I will have Professor McGonagall arrange what extra preparation is necessary with your teachers, and I will schedule your examinations for April."  
  
Seeing her doubtful expression, he added,  
  
"Professor McGonagall has your best interests at heart. She will get used to the situation."  
  
"This leaves us with the two issues of Professor Snape and your parents."  
  
"What about Sev - Professor Snape?"  
  
"Well, it will be widely assumed that he is the father, especially amongst the staff. I can handle the situation by declaring I know the identity of the father to be a student, but that will mean pressure will be put on me to punish him (and you) in some way. Which means declaring his identity - as well as the reason that I am not expelling or suspending you - something you have already said you do not want.  
  
"So I am left with the options of telling people this is my school and to keep their noses out; or firing Severus and letting him take the role of the father. Either way I need to have both your views to begin with."  
  
"He said . . . well, he offered . . ." her voice trailed of as the oddness of his gesture struck her.  
  
"To marry you? That's something that Severus would do."  
  
"Yes. He said he'd marry me, if I could bear it. His words. But what will he do if he can't teach any more?"  
  
"Oh Severus is highly sought after in research circles - he's quite bright as I'm sure you have noticed. And researchers are notoriously eccentric - impregnating a student could be considered positively tame in comparison to some of the stories I've heard . . . No, being fired will not leave him destitute, if you decide that you want to proceed with this deception.  
  
"Anyway should your other coup de grâce pay off, you will both become celebrities, so immediately be allowed to pursue whatever lifestyle you like. Oh, don't look so surprised, it is my school, and I'm not reputedly omniscient for no reason, you know. I'm fully aware of your research, if not the details.  
  
"Though thinking of it, you might be wise to give some thought to godparents - not intending to be morbid, or any slur on your capability; but taking on Voldemort is a risky business."  
  
He stopped, seeing Hermione mutter something under her breath. "Care to repeat that?"  
  
She looked up guiltily, then shrugged and grinned. "I said, 'he started it'. Childish but true."  
  
"True indeed. Anyway, I shall fight both your corners, and allow you two to decide on the best course of action. Now, your parents. I assume you have yet to inform them."  
  
"Yeah . . . somehow I can't seem to find the right words."  
  
"You need to speak to them if your relationship is to continue with them, and if you want to receive any support from them. I understand that their world must seem increasingly alien to you, as well as their aspirations for you. You must be aware that should you choose to immerse yourself entirely in the magical community, there is no way they can follow."  
  
"To tell the truth, I don't think that informing them is very important to me. I mean, I've not been home since the beginning of the Fifth form, what with the difficulties of securing Muggle homes and all, and now, now I'm not sure what to tell them.  
  
"My mother would want me to have an abortion, and my father would want me to get married, I'm sure. I mean, they both still think I'm going to a sixth form college in September to do my A Levels. They seem to understand that I don't need Muggle qualifications, and that I'm not going to medical school, or into dentistry, that I won't even be going to a university, because the magical world doesn't have or need any.  
  
"They still think I'm a misguided child, doing this in the spirit of teenage rebellion. I'm never going back to their middle-class suburbia, where nothing ever happens, and nothing ever will.  
  
"Not physically; not metaphorically."  
  
"So you don't want me to inform them?"  
  
"It was a rather long-winded 'no' wasn't it. No, I don't want them to be told."  
  
"Very well. Then you will need to start thinking about living arrangements; you are free to stay here until the start of the next academic year, of course. And should you be successful in saving the world, I am sure you will be inundated with offers of research posts, and all the perks designed to win you over. But it always pays to have a back- up plan, just in case."  
  
"I'll put it on my 'Things TO DO Before I Take on Voldemort' list."  
  
"A wise idea." Dumbledore's voice was serious, but his lips twitched slightly. "And now, I'd like you to go to Madame Pomfrey for a check up. I have reminded her the ultimate decision lies with you, and she will respect that."  
  
On which note Hermione decided it was high time she left, before anymore uncomfortable truths were aired.  
  
* * *  
  
By the time Madame Pomfrey had finished fussing over Hermione, and declared her fit (despite what she obviously considered a malady in a student) allowing her to leave, evening had well and truly become night.  
  
As it was already after evening curfew, Hermione decided to pay Severus a visit, rather than keep him in suspense over her decision any longer. Or keep herself in suspense over his reaction any longer. Slipping silently along the halls, tracing her way towards the dungeon, Hermione reflected that it was going to be Severus's support she would count on in the coming months, rather than anyone else's.  
  
She was still no clearer on what to do about his offer, but certain facts she had straight in her head finally, and intended to tell him those tonight.  
  
However when she let herself into his rooms, and found him still absent, she knew with deadly certainty that he had been called away to Voldemort's side, and that the timing was not coincidental. It was probably to discuss her condition - for she was sure Voldemort would take an interest in the child he had helped to father.  
  
Briefly she wondered how deep Voldemort's claim to parentage ran - whether the talents passed to Harry would be passed on to her child. It didn't matter if they were, she told herself; it was the personality not the abilities that made a dark wizard. Then she pushed the unpleasant fact that she didn't have any sure answers to any of it out of her head.  
  
Severus's absence meant that Hermione fell into the now familiar pattern of sitting waiting for his return, starting at every sound, wondering if it was him collapsing, or falling, or calling out for her. Except that tonight she decided it was time to change the routine.  
  
Taking Severus's advise, she set about transfiguring a bed from the pile of collapsed cardboard boxes she had produced earlier, which was the most efficient method she'd found of getting rid of them. She ended up with a double four-poster bed, carved with flowing curves that suited the theme of the room.  
  
With a flick of her wand she added curtains in deep, green velvet, and after a moments though, added silver scrollwork to the edges in the Celtic designs copied from Thaliae's carvings. Finally she removed the one remaining box from the floor, and transferred the clothes into the top of the cupboard she had created for him, reduced the ring box to the size of postage stamp and pocketed it. Flattening out the cardboard, she deftly transfigured it into a headboard, which she levitated and fixed in place with a series of spells.  
  
Kicking off her shoes, Hermione drew back one of the curtains and made herself comfortable on the bed, waiting for Severus to return. She had the feeling she would be spending a good few hours lying in this bed, resting, as her pregnancy advance, and it was certainly more comfortable that the fireside chair that had become hers. She had no idea how Severus could sleep sitting upright.  
  
Looking round the rooms, she admired her work, deciding it was certainly better than dusty heaps of boxes, fit for accommodating only spiders and assorted insects, and more personal than her own room, which she had not been allowed to decorate.  
  
So it was with a sense of pride that Hermione drifted into sleep, before being woken in the dead of night by a slamming door.  
  
* * *  
  
With a few muttered profanities that would have earned any student a detention at the very least, Snape pulled himself into a standing position. He immediately swayed, so braced himself against the ironwork of the gate post. A few steadying breaths, to allow the pain to subside to an ache, and he began walking up the drive towards the main entrance hall. With every step he succeeded in getting wetter, although when he awoke this would have seemed impossible, given that he was already soaked to the skin.  
  
As the sky was cloudy, he had no light to guide him, save the faint flickering of his wand-light, which resulted in him stepping in what seemed like every puddle and pothole that had formed. His cloak and robes were weighing him down, the extra folds of material normally so useful for dramatic swirling, now proving an encumbrance to movement. By the time he veered of the main driveway he was thoroughly miserable, lacking even the hope that Hermione would be there to greet him.  
  
He followed the path that was purposefully overgrown to disguise its existence down to the walls of the castle, brutally trampling any undergrowth that got in his way. Moments later he had ducked into a passageway, known only to himself, Filch and the Headmaster, which led directly to the corridor on which the Potions Classroom opened. It had been protected by a series of strong concealment spells - all Slytherin passageways were - and Snape tool pride in knowing that the old Slytherin cunning had defeated the so-called Marauders, who in their typical Gryffindor arrogance had considered themselves masters of Hogwart's many secrets.  
  
That they should have known better - that he was currently proving them wrong - lent him the energy he needed to make it to the point where the passageway opened into the dungeon corridor. Relieved to be on the homeward straight at long last, Snape excised less caution that he should in opening the portal and crossing the corridor to his own classroom. He was rewarded for his lack of care by a loud call:  
  
"Stop right there, you little blighter, I've got you now!"  
  
The voice was followed by the emaciated form of Argus Filch hurrying around the open door. Seeing Snape, he looked around for the student he believed he had caught, before his triumphant smirk faded and he blustered,  
  
"Oh, my apologies, Professor Snape. I thought you were the student I've been tailing around these corridors for the past hour."  
  
If Filch was expecting an offer of help, he was sorely disappointed. Summoning up his habitual sneer, Snape countered,  
  
"I rather suspect it is your eyesight, and not my stature, that has diminished enough to mistake me for a student. That being the case I will inform you there is no-one else here."  
  
With that he turned and headed for his office, his whole posture a dismissal. The man had not deserved his ire but it had been the last straw in what had been a Very Bad Day. Wondering if he could go any lower in the stakes of self-loathing he opened the door to his rooms.  
  
At once, he saw Hermione's usual chair empty, and decided that he could indeed go lower, and just had. He wanted to scream, to curse the Powers- that-be for ever making him draw breath, he wanted to cry, to race through the corridors railing against the unfairness, the cruelty of it all.  
  
Instead, he slammed the door with every ounce of his failing strength, as if trying to tear it from hinges would remove some of the pain he felt.  
  
Which was the sound that awoke Hermione.  
  
As he stood immobile by the door, lost for any words or actions that had any purpose left, she emerged from the bedroom, looking half asleep and startled.  
  
Severus hung his head and snarled at the bitterness of the dream, the false hope it offered, and it was not until she slipped his arms around his waist, that he realised it was reality.  
  
Resting her head against his chest, his angel murmured,  
  
"Was it so bad?"  
  
Unable to find the words, he merely gathered her in his arms and sank to his knees.  
  
* * *  
  
After a while of holding her close, breathing in her scent, drawing strength form her nearness and warmth, Snape rose to his feet, lifting Hermione with him, and they made their way slowly to the fireside chairs. From her silence, she appeared to be letting him speak first. Afraid to open his mouth, lest his innermost fears of loosing her come spilling out, he cast drying charms on them both to buy himself some time.  
  
Eventually he said, "I though you'd left for good this time. When I didn't see you here. I never realised how much I'd miss you."  
  
"Why should I leave - I realised tat you wouldn't have left unless you had no other choice. I was waiting up for you, but I fell asleep. Sorry." She added sheepishly.  
  
"In there? On the floor?"  
  
"No I took your advice, and Madame Pomfrey's. She said I'd need to make sure I rested and laid down a lot - so I transfigured a bed for me, well, for you I suppose, though you never had one before."  
  
Severus put aside his immediate desire to tell her he'd never needed one before, but that that could change, as an inappropriate comment, and struck to the more pressing issues.  
  
"So that means you're keeping it?"  
  
"Her. And yes, I'm keeping her."  
  
"What did Dumbledore say - about your future - about us?"  
  
"He said my future looked bright if I managed to defeat Voldemort - yes he knows, don't ask me how - and if I didn't, then it didn't really matter anymore. As for us; something along the lines of he would tell people to keep their noses out of where they didn't belong, and then do the same."  
  
"Dumbledore not interfering? That'd be a first. But that's good isn't it; that's what you wanted, wasn't it?"  
  
"Pretty much"  
  
"What about other things? Your studies?" The pause between the two questions told her exactly what he meant by other things.  
  
"Professor McGonagall is going to arrange things so I can take my NEWTs in April; at least the headmaster is going to tell her to."  
  
Sensing Hermione's anxiety over how her education was to proceed, and that she was fully expecting Professor McGonagall to be difficult, Severus sought to reassure her.  
  
"Don't worry about Minerva, if that's why you're frowning, she values Dumbledore's judgement over her own. If he tells her to help, she will. And don't forget she's immensely proud of you - you're one of the brightest, most capable students she's had in that house in nearly twenty years, if not more. You should have seen the state she worked herself up into when Dumbledore refused to make you Head Girl.  
  
"Anyhow, if all else fails, I'll snarl at and bully every one of your teachers until they agree to give you whatever help you want."  
  
Hermione was grinning now, watching him with those brown eyes that he had seen the spark of life return to over the past weeks, and he couldn't resist asking what she was thinking.  
  
"I was thinking," she replied mischievously "about how that would feed the rumour-mill; you stalking about like an over protective father-to-be. Almost worth it for - how do you Slytherins put it - purposes of misdirection?"  
  
Severus smile in response, but underneath he suddenly looked weary and lost. The aches and hurt of the night's exploits suddenly came flooding back into the warm bubble he had place himself with Hermione, shattering it.  
  
These were facts not lost on Hermione.  
  
"What's wrong? What have I said? What don't I know?" she stared intently into his eyes, willing him to answer.  
  
Faced with such intensity, Snape found he was lacking in strength to lie, when all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball.  
  
"We wouldn't succeed in . . . misdirecting . . . the one who matters."  
  
"Voldemort." Hermione's voice was halfway between a statement and a plea.  
  
Severus nodded slowly, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat at the surge of memories. "Yes, he knows. And he wants the child brought to him, when it . . . she . . . is born. He seems to think she will be his heir."  
  
"Brought by whom? You?"  
  
"By me."  
  
"Then we need to kill him before she's born."  
  
Her voice was cold now, a lioness protecting her cubs, full of deadly grace and determination.  
  
"Now why ever didn't I think of that before."  
  
Snape couldn't resist a snipe, and when the words came out, unbidden, loaded with sarcasm, he would have given anything to take them back. It was a new experience for him. They seemed to have no effect on Hermione, who by now was used to it.  
  
When she answered, he mentally noted: score one to Hermione;  
  
"Of course you thought of it before - everyone has. But no-one else had a way. All we need is practise."  
  
She seemed determined to start now.  
  
"Tomorrow." Was all he said, summoning up all the teacherly authority he could manage. "Rest now."  
  
"Can I stay here?"  
  
He merely pointed towards the bedroom. "You seem to have made yourself comfortable. Go ahead."  
  
She rose from her chair. "Tomorrow, then. And you can tell me why Dumbledore refused to make me Head Girl."  
  
"You don't miss a thing do you?"  
  
She looked briefly haunted, then, "Not any more."  
  
"Goodnight then. Sleep well."  
  
"You too, Severus."  
  
"I'll try." He replied as she shut the bedroom door, and then settled himself in his chair, looking into the cold, empty fireplace. For once, it was colder than his heart. 


	17. Equity

Chapter 17: Solstice  
  
Practice, it turned out, was exactly what was needed, Hermione discovered. It brought back memories of trying to learn how to fly. The later she had abandoned gratefully after the first year when it was no longer a compulsory subject, and while she enjoyed watching others flaunt their daring on the Quidditch pitch, Hermione kept her own feet firmly on the ground.  
  
It wasn't that she was afraid of heights, or speed, or even being suspended in the air by what amounted to a flimsy collection of sticks; it was just that her talents lay firmly in the theoretical, not the practical. She just accepted that, jokingly saying that if her life ever depended on having to fly a broom, she'd just have to die.  
  
Only that it didn't seem quite so funny now. She had a hugely practical task to master, and a deadline by which to do it. With the emphasis on *dead*. If she didn't manage it, she would die, of that she was sure.  
  
So the time had come to do what Hermione rarely did, step out from behind her books and admit that research had taken her as far as it was ever going to. And the journey into action was one Hermione had never undertaken alone - no courageous partners-in-crime to carry her along this time.  
  
This was not to say, however, that their research had been unprofitable. The final clue needed had come, ironically, not from a book, but from Voldemort himself. In one of the 'lessons', Potter, or rather Voldemort talking through Potter, had asked to learn the enchantments for the Sanguisuga ritual. Snape had in all honesty had to look up the intricate details - so obscure and forgotten the ritual was. And while it was a highly technical and advanced piece of dark magic, its lack of note stemmed for the fact that it was considered virtually useless.  
  
Foremost, it was only able to be performed once a year, at midday of the spring equinox in the home of the intended victim, in fairly close proximity for all that. The constraints of use, as well as the length and complexity of the incantations meant that the request was not an idle one. Could not be an idle one, or their whole planned suddenly developed a very large flaw.  
  
However, assuming that Voldemort was going to use the Sanguisuga ritual, this gave Severus and Hermione a deadline, March 21st, the day the ritual would have to be performed. They surmised, from the significance of the day, and to be sure of success, Voldemort would have to put the whole of his essence, hi blackened soul in its entirety, into Potter. The ritual itself made use of the fact that the spring equinox was a day of balance; the day when the hours of daylight equalled the hours of darkness to the minute.  
  
The day when everything stood in perfect symmetry - most particularly magical power. It was fairly well known that if a witch or wizard overextended themselves on the day of spring equinox, their magical ability would be reduced for a period following, how long depending on how big a drain they placed on their innate reserves of magic. In severe cases, they could drain themselves of magic entirely, an event which usually resulted in their death.  
  
It was this fact that meant not all of those with innate magical talent were trained in the magical institutions worldwide. The limit on the magical power they could safely draw simple lay too low to allow them to attain the levels required to even scrape a pass in their NEWTs. So be they squibs or Muggle-born, they passed into society untrained, in many cases unaware of their natural talent, the magic in them only becoming sufficiently focused at times of dire emergency.  
  
Yet at spring equinox, all of the magical community found the limit of the magic they could safely use drastically reduced. It was this fact that the Sanguisuga ritual made use of; it drew magic out of the victim to such a degree that they were normally killed, failing that their magical ability severely impaired. The downside to the ritual was that unless the practitioner was immensely powerful, they too were killed due to the drain of magic the ritual created in them. And dark wizards do not like anything that could result in their death.  
  
Hence Voldemort's use of Harry Potter - assassination by proxy. Dumbledore had to be the intended target (he was the only resident who had no other address to call home) and this had the added bonus of Potter being able to get near him with ease. Plus the fact that in all likelihood Potter would be killed.  
  
Two birds with one obscure ritual.  
  
Now the pair knew what was about to transpire, how, when and where they had begun to devise a means of using the one flaw in Voldemort's plan against him, namely that he would be forced to separate his spirit entirely from his body. This meant that if they could destroy his spirit - severely weakened, as it was lacking the protection of the body veiled in immortality and defensive charms - they could be done with Voldemort once and for all.  
  
And to this end they had devised a plan, the genius of which lay in its simplicity. Severus had the ability - underused - to project any emotion he chose onto another person. He had witnessed the myriad of emotions that accompany death, and relived the moments in his nightmares, enough times to know the pattern as well as the back of his hand. He was intending to project the feelings of death onto Voldemort's soul - at which point Hermione came in.  
  
Voldemort would feel as if he was dying, but not actually be dying, because his mind did not believe what he was experiencing. Hermione had found accounts that claimed if she could read chi then she could alter it; make a fractured pattern appear whole, and visa versa. In simple terms she should be able to make someone experiencing or speaking a lie believe that it was the gospel truth by repairing the part of the chi fractured by the untruth.  
  
Genius the plan may have been, but there was one small problem - neither could actually do what they intended to do with their powers. They had just over three months to accomplish what it took some a lifetime of study and reflection to master.  
  
For the moment progress was slow.  
  
To be exact, progress during the last days of term, when work was being handed out liberally in preparation for the holidays, was nonexistent. Hermione felt compelled to try and get her assigned work done before the end of term, so that she could spend the holidays focusing on the extra work she had been given. As a consequence, she had spent virtually no time in the dungeons since the Hogsmeade weekend when Snape had discovered she was pregnant.  
  
That had been a week ago. Hermione hoped he hadn't had too much time away from her, and decided that he was better of without the trouble she caused for him. Which was why, on the first day of the Christmas holidays, Hermione decamped to the dungeons, planning to spend plenty of time there.  
  
Deciding against the subtle approach of actually asking before announcing her intention to move in, Hermione packed a bag with several changes of clothes, various toiletries and the text books for the subjects she wanted to start her extra work on (the ones she really liked!). Slinging the bag over her shoulder and marched down to Severus's office with determination, then decided to knock before entering, because she was at heart still a very polite young lady.  
  
Severus opened the door and surveyed Hermione and her bag with an expression as close to being bemused as he would ever let his face get.  
  
"Running away from home? Going somewhere?"  
  
"Hopefully, in here."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Yeah. Think of it as my formal request for political asylum." She grinned broadly.  
  
"Well for that you have to show signs of persecution. If you had time to pack that bag, well . . ." his expression said that he was now teasing her.  
  
"Model of efficiency, me. Can I move in then?"  
  
"So long as there's nothing pink in that bag."  
  
"Oh stop being difficult."  
  
With a mock bow, Severus stepped back, but neatly divested Hermione of her bag and carried it into the bedroom for her, allowing her to get herself comfortable for the day's activities.  
  
* * *  
  
"And that," exclaimed Hermione with an exaggerated sigh, "I think is finally that!"  
  
Severus looked down at the scroll in front of him one last time. Having scanned the contents critically, he allowed the paper to roll up with a snap. He nodded. Then smiled.  
  
"Yes you have now completed the syllabus for History of Magic, and stayed awake for the entire duration, a feat never before completed, to my knowledge. My congratulations.  
  
The last was delivered with all sincerity, and a tone that suggested irony, but was nonetheless true. Hermione had spent the majority of her holidays this far completing the syllabuses of all her subjects in preparation for her early NEWTs. Most teachers settled for giving her a list of all the subjects yet to be completed, including the important bits of work she'd be expected to do. They had then reminded her she had a comprehensive textbook and shooed her out of the door. Only Professor Flitwick had told her that he'd be available all holiday, should she encounter any difficulty, and would be delighted to help.  
  
It was not exactly the co-operative attitude she'd been promised by Dumbledore, or hoped for, given seven years of devoted and conscientious study. Hermione expected it had more than a little to do with Professor McGonagall's imperious command that it would be done, without giving any reasons why. And her disapproval of the situation had been very clear in her body language on these occasions. Severus had told her more than a few of her teachers had heard courtesy of the 'grape vine' before anyone had though to inform them.  
  
For some reason, he added with a touch of wry humour, they had seen fit to ask him for verification.  
  
Hermione decided that if he wasn't enjoying the attention, then he must have won the lottery, and neglected to mention it to her. Talked about, suspected and disapproved of - Severus Snape was in his element. All the extra people to snap at, frown at and generally over-awe were having a positive effect on his mood when he was alone with Hermione. And while people were talking about Severus, and digressing onto the many other things they had to say about him and his manner, they weren't talking about Hermione, a situation which pleased them both.  
  
On the rare occasions they ventured out of the dungeons together, the invariably seemed to encounter Dumbledore strolling somewhere or other, moustaches twitching.  
  
Hermione had definitely developed an appreciation of the solitude of living in the dungeon offered, even if she did mourn the lack of natural light. Even so, Severus insisted that she head up to the Gryffindor tower, and her rooms, at least once a day. For appearances, he said. Which meant that she walked through the common room at a time it was likely to be highly populated, headed for her room, cast an invisibility charm around herself, and headed back out. The difference in attitude to her when she walked in - respectful, if distant - was a marked contrast to the whispers she heard on her way out.  
  
Yet more and more she was feeling a distance growing between herself and her housemates, and she did not regret it. It was not that she was rejecting them or running away, withdrawing into solitude, it was just that she had outgrown them. When she had jokingly requested political asylum from Severus, it was not Slytherin she had fled to, but the adult world.  
  
The pathetic attempts of the other Gryffindors to avoid work and dedication to anything academic, and obsession with Quidditch or fashion depending on their sex, were something Hermione had never understood. Previously she had tolerated it, tried to fit herself around their world, but now it seemed contemptible. If it had yet to dawn on her classmates that this was the last set of exams they would ever take - that it was really their final chance to emerge into the world qualified witches or wizards, then it was no concern of hers. Once, she would have reminded them that if they didn't pass all their core subjects then they would have their wands snapped, or worse, the indignity of repeating their final year.  
  
Incompetent wizards are not just loosed on to the world just because they completed seven years at Hogwarts - graduation had to be earned on merit not stamina. To remind them now would be a means of her to cause trouble, not out of genuine concern for the misguided, and she had better uses for her time.  
  
So she ignored the whispers, and hurried back to the dungeon, and the man she had seriously begun to contemplate marrying.  
  
But not tonight - tonight the routine had to be changed - all because it was Christmas Eve.  
  
Severus, being Severus, could give mules lessons in stubbornness; and tonight, after completing her work at last and a time of conversation - it could have been minutes or hours, time had a habit of disappearing - he had dispatched her to Gryffindor with instructions to stay there all night.  
  
It was the house-elves he explained, that were the problem. By longstanding tradition they distributed presents according to a list delivered from the reindeer-elves, to cut down on the workload for their elf brothers. And Professor McGonagall compared the names of the recipients to the rooms to which the presents were delivered, which was the room where they were asleep when the presents arrived, in case anyone decided to give their lovers a special Christmas gift. McGonagall finding Hermione recorded as sleeping in Severus Snape's bed - and she was sure to check for it - was a Christmas surprise neither of them needed.  
  
Reluctantly, Hermione had gone to her own room, which was now seemed terribly empty without the comforting presence of someone else just outside her door, and waited. Without the sound of another person breathing, the silence was unbearable.  
  
Waited for the morning when she would be able to run down and see if he appreciated her gift. Waited until she would be able to be back in the familiar, safe surroundings of his home. Waited for sleep to come, without her protector on hand to guard her slumber.  
  
Just waited, as the minutes crawled by. 


	18. Christmas

Okay, here's the long awaited . . . consummation . . . obviously tamer than otherwise would be, but this is now R rated. I still like it though, hope you do.  
  
Photis.  
  
  
  
Chapter 16: Christmas  
  
Hermione woke feeling uncomfortable, having slipped down from her seated position in bed to an approximation of the foetal position. Her neck was stiff, her right hand and arm from the elbow down were numb, and the lingering unease of the nightmare that had awoken her was still constricting her breathing. All in all, the pile of brightly wrapped boxes and parcels adorning the bottom of her bed seemed totally out of place.  
  
Hermione opened them eagerly anyway.  
  
Her parents had excelled themselves once again with book tokens in large amounts and a heavily embroidered, sequined, beaded and overall glittery bed throw, with a label that said Arcadia inside. Hermione recognised the name as being a shop in the nearby town where she had visited every day after school had finished gazing at the bejewelled trinkets and walking through the clouds of burning incense and flickering candles, listening to music that never made it to the radio. The shop where she had dreamed she could escape the sobriety and routine of the life that stretched out ahead of her to the uninspiring horizon, until one day in august a barn owl arrived in her kitchen and gave her a chance of escape. And a reason for all the strange things that happened around her.  
  
Needless to say, she was determined to succeed, because in doing so she could finally be free.  
  
Briefly she wondered if her parents knew she had visited Arcadia - she had never dared buy anything - or whether pure luck and chance had conspired to give her the best gift her parents had managed in many years. Most likely the secretary at the dental practice had been tasked with buying something for her.  
  
A brief though was all she spared them before she turned back to the rest of her presents. Mrs Weasley had sent her a knitted jumper as usual (brown this year) along with iced Christmas cake decorated with holly leaves. There was a Christmas card from Ron, and a cheerfully decorated mirror from Ginny (it didn't talk, so it had been transfigured not bought), and nothing from Harry at all.  
  
Note to self - he has already given you quite enough. To worry about?  
  
Yes, but something to smile about as well, now she knew she wasn't alone in her worries.  
  
Albus Dumbledore had sent her a smallish book entitled 'A Companion to Hogwarts a History: The Things we COULD have Mentioned, but didn't.' A scan of the contents page revealed no mention of House-elves (still) but a handwritten inscription instead:  
  
'This is the information we give only to the most trusted students - Albus Dumbledore.' She supposed that meant there was a message for her to find in the text. For now it seemed a fair exchange for the socks she had sent him.  
  
Sifting her way through other token gifts her house and class mates had sent her more out of duty than real affection, until she uncovered a heavy box that was labelled with her name in Severus's looping script. Opening it, she thought he had given her a pile of small pieces of glass. Then a letter fell out, so in a search for clarity, she opened it up.  
  
Dearest Hermione [it read]  
  
No, it is not a pile of glass! (Just in case you thought I'd gone slightly mad.)  
  
It is a mural, inspired by the stained glass windows and screens the art deco movement you seem to favour produced.  
  
It is enchanted, so that even if you place it on a stone wall, it allows light to shine in when it is day, and moonlight at night. The view it shows has to be programmed in by using photographs, but once that is done, the scene it shows is the actual view you would have were you truly overlooking the place in the photograph at that moment. I am told that you can program in any number of vistas.  
  
It is also like a puzzle, which I know you like, as the pieces arrived in a box, and I do not know how they fit together. There are no instructions, or diagrams, so you'll have to rely on intuition.  
  
But this way, wherever you go, you'll always have real sunlight in your life.  
  
Love,  
  
Severus Snape.  
  
Hugging her knees to her chest, Hermione understood the subtle message in his choice of gift - that she didn't have to give up everything she valued to be with him, and she was welcome to bring her ways and preferences into his life. Repacking the casing, Hermione dressed as hastily as she could, whilst still making sure she chose a flattering outfit and tamed her hair as much as she was able. After applying her makeup - natural, but noticeable - she scooped up the mural and bed throw in her arms, the used the invisibility cloak to cover her and the objects she carried, before beginning the slow walk (due to necessity alone) to the dungeons.  
  
On the way, she thought more about the undertone of the note Severus had sent, and kept coming back to the same conclusion. What she felt for him was love, not gratitude or dependence, but she could not be sure if it could or would last outside the situation and environment she now found herself in. It was all very well to live as though the next three months where her last, but if a new day dawned for her on 22nd March, what then?  
  
She knew that she could live with Severus when they were striving for a common goal, and he with her while she depended on his support, but once that link was removed, would there be anything left?  
  
The crux of the matter, she knew, lay in Severus and whether he decided to live or die. IF he wanted to live, then she was prepared to live with him, and find the answers to her questions. If . . .  
  
But before that she had promises to keep; exams to pass; a baby to give birth to; and evil megalomaniac to overthrow; and most importantly a very big if to overcome. Which thoughts had brought her to his rooms, and saw her setting down her burdens and hanging the silvery cloak behind his door. Severus was sitting in his usual fireside chair, a small leather-bound book on his knee. It felt like returning home.  
  
Remaining standing, Hermione gathered her courage, to ask:  
  
"You got it then?"  
  
"As it was the only one I received, I didn't have much trouble locating your present."  
  
Raising an eyebrow Potions Master Style, Hermione reigned in her curiosity and said nothing.  
  
"And it's wonderful, Hermione. A beautiful gift. Tell me again what I did to deserve you."  
  
In response she gave a small chuckle. "I never did tell you, but I think you ought to know if you haven't figured it out."  
  
She took a step closer, "You believed in me when no-one else seemed to care."  
  
Another step, "You respected me when I couldn't respect myself. And you never judged me, or doubted me, or made me feel guilty, or questioned me."  
  
She was standing right by his side now, "You opened up to me enough to give me the guidance, and the benefit of your experience and company, when I needed it most. And you did that because I needed help, even though you are the most intensely private person I know.  
  
"It's all those things made me fall in love with you. And once you let me in, I found I loved the person you were too."  
  
He was looking up at her amazed as she reached for the book - her diary since the rape in which she had recorded her innermost thoughts, mostly about Severus, which had been her gift to him. Amazement turned to shock as she settled herself on his lap. Touching one finger to her lips she smiled,  
  
"I gave you my diary because I wanted you to understand, what I thought, how I rationalised the emotions you sensed in me."  
  
Then gently, slowly, she removed her finger from his lips and kissed him instead. After a short and innocent kiss she drew back to look in his eyes, aware that his hands were still on the armrests.  
  
"Severus," she murmured softly, "I don't know if I want to marry you, but I'd like to try and find out."  
  
Hesitantly he reached a hand into her hair, and sensing no resistance pulled her back towards him to receive another kiss. Responding to his gentle touches of his tongue against her lip, Hermione opened her mouth and deepened the kiss. As he snaked his other hand around her waist, neatly positioned so as to be innocent and unthreatening, he pulled her body closer to him, but broke of the kiss slightly.  
  
Seizing the opportunity he offered, Hermione slid her tongue into his mouth, caressing gently, tasting peppermint and brandy. The warmth of his body was against hers, and along with his nearness, was an exhilarating sensation. Wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders, she abandoned herself to simply feeling, and melted into his embrace.  
  
It was quite a while later that they came up for air, and Severus began trailing small kisses over her forehead and then on, over her temples and down the side of her neck, his hand caressing the small of her back, causing tingles of pure delight to radiate out over her whole body. Suddenly gripped by a passion of frightening intensity, she raised a hand to his face and guided his lips back to hers; longing for him to possess her but not quite daring to make the first move, knowing that he was waiting for her to.  
  
* * *  
  
Thus engaged, they were both nearly late for Christmas lunch. Dashing up the corridors the refrained from touching, or holding hands, but as they walked they were very much together. Approaching the doors to the Great Hall Hermione slowed her pace slightly, so they could enter separately, instead of as a couple. But Severus gently caught her hand and urged her back to his side.  
  
By means of explanation he muttered, "Our absence will have already been noted, and if we enter trying to look separate it will just reinforce the conclusions already being drawn. For all they know we could have been engrossed in work and forgot the time."  
  
"Working on Christmas day?"  
  
"We're classed as geeks, remember? We do strange things like that, and think they're fun." He barely suppressed the sarcasm in his voice, which told her he was bitter on the topic.  
  
"Go in like we've nothing to hide, then?"  
  
"In essence. Personally I'd go for nothing more than usual to hide - but then I've got a Past, they say."  
  
"Oh, give over!" She cried in semi-exasperation, and moved forward, giving his hand a gentle tug before releasing his fingers. Immediately they fell into step.  
  
Side by side, they entered the hall. They were met by Dumbledore's knowing twinkle, McGonagall's disapproving frown, and comical looks of shock on many of the students' faces.  
  
Brazenly ignoring them all, they walked the length of the hall, Hermione settling herself at the prefect's table, and Severus continuing to the high table. Sitting, he gave her what passed as a smile (for a Snape) and then proceeded to ignore everyone for the duration of the meal.  
  
Hermione ate well.  
  
* * *  
  
After the meal Hermione and Severus decided on taking a walk instead of returning to his rooms. The air was clear and crisp, and the lake was frozen over, which was where their journey took them. During the lunch a reflective quiet had settled over Hermione, and Severus had to make several attempts before he could coax the cause out of her.  
  
"Are you regretting what happened?"  
  
"No, it's not that Severus. Please don't think that. I just . . . was wondering why you stay here, I mean, I know Dumbledore has some enchantments on you, but . . ."  
  
"Am I stuck here for life, or did I choose to be here?"  
  
"In a nutshell."  
  
"When I renounced the Death Eaters and Voldemort, I swore that I would do whatever was necessary to destroy Voldemort, or die trying. I wasn't coerced or force into that decision . . . but you know how aurors can get - they rarely actually threaten.  
  
"There was a lot of opposition to my return, and I got so involved in telling people how I wanted to make amends, make things even, I actually believed I could, for a while. Dumbledore argued that the best place for me was teaching at Hogwarts, so that Voldemort would be prepared to overlook any doubts over my loyalty to keep what he thought was an inside source.  
  
"After his first defeat, I stayed at Hogwarts because Dumbledore persuaded me to, and in all honesty I had no desire to make a new life for myself. From your fourth year onwards I have resumed my role as a double agent, and have to see this through.  
  
"If we are successful, then I suppose I will be free. I have no idea what to do with that freedom, though."  
  
"Is that what you're doing this for? For your freedom? For an obligation to Dumbledore? Or for me, because I've set my heart on it?"  
  
"I'm not entirely sure. For you, I suppose. Why the questions?"  
  
"Because I still have a promise to make good on."  
  
For a moment he looked blank, then realisation dawned. Looking intently into her eyes, the pools of darkness dragging her in,  
  
"I would never expect you to fulfil that promise. Not now. It was wrong to ask you in the first instance. And selfish. Surely you know that."  
  
"But do you want to hold me to it?"  
  
He didn't answer for a long time, just turned and looked out across the frozen lake, at the setting sun. His features, like the lake had turned to ice. Hermione did not interrupt, merely watched him contemplate his life. Standing still for so long she began to shiver and pulled her cloak around her. The movement seemed to rouse him.  
  
"We should go inside. I have to get ready to go the Malfoy Christmas Revel. It's not quite a summons from Voldemort, but it's as inescapable."  
  
He held out a hand to her, to draw her back to his side. As she clasped his hand, he whispered, "I don't know."  
  
They walked back to the castle in silence.  
  
* * *  
  
It was one am and Hermione was getting worried. Severus had yet to return.  
  
After he had flooed out of his rooms to the Malfoy mansion, she had remained. Unpacking the mural on the floor, she had tried various combinations of coloured and clear glass until she had an eight foot, arched window. Following the instructions left, she attached each piece to the wall opposite his/her, their, bed with magic. When it was finally complete, she had used both her own and Severus's photo albums to program in the views from every place either of them had been.  
  
Though this had taken a good deal of time, there was no changing the fact that Severus was now an hour later than he said he would be. Her mind was racing with all the things than could have befallen him - each possibility worse than the last. At least he would be able to floo back to the rooms, rather than walk from the gates if he was injured.  
  
And, as if thinking of him had caused him to appear, she heard the roar of flames leaping up in the fireplace, and jumped out of bed. As he stepped from the green flames she hurtled into his arms and grabbed him in a great bear hug. He brought his own arms up to embrace her, but made no attempt to pry her away until she was ready.  
  
Head against his chest she asked, the sound muted by his robes, "Are you hurt?"  
  
"No. It seems at this time of Christmas cheer and goodwill to all men, that only Muggles are tortured in the Malfoy household."  
  
Drawing back, she gazed up at him with infinite sadness in her eyes, and compassion, "Did they all die?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Rather than answer she just placed her head against his chest once again and held him tighter. When she finally disentangled herself, he excused himself to go and bathe. In scalding water.  
  
Hermione stared at the closed bathroom door, with a mixture of emotions, trying to make her decision. After fifteen minutes, when she was finally sure, and had judged the water would have cooled enough, she removed all of her clothing, used her wand to unlock the door, and entered.  
  
If he was surprised to see the door open, then he was astounded to see her lack of garments. Opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, he succeeded in making incomprehensible noises only, until she climbed into the water with him.  
  
Startled into a response, he said, "What on Earth do you -", which was as far as he got before she kissed him.  
  
Sliding closer she whispered in his ear, "I hope there hasn't been anyone else tonight?"  
  
"No." He croaked out hoarsely.  
  
"Good. I think I'm the jealous type." Was all she said before she silenced him with another kiss, and straddled him. Moaning slightly, she broke away and continued, "And I don't believe that you really want to protest."  
  
Finally giving in to the inevitable, he picked her up and rose fairly gracefully considering from the bath, and carried her to the bedroom. Wet skin pressed against wet skin he began to caress her body, her breasts, with reverence.  
  
Beneath him, Hermione closed her eyes and allowed herself to be carried on waves of pure delight, but before she succumbed to desire entirely, there was one more thing she had to do.  
  
"Severus, stop."  
  
Immediately he removed his hand, and after a moments pause rolled away from her. As he made to get out of the bed she caught his arm.  
  
"Don't go. I want this, but I had to know."  
  
"I see. Did I pass?"  
  
"Of course you did." She gave a gentle tug on his arm. "Where's the favourite place you visited?"  
  
He looked at her for a moment, then followed her gaze to the mural. "Videori Bay of Naples" he directed at it.  
  
Returning to her, they made love under the soft moonlight of a night in Sorrento. 


	19. Awakening

Chapter 17: Awakening  
  
Severus Snape woke before dawn, as was his habit, and took a moment to register he was lying in a bed instead of sitting in his normal chair, and a second more than that to remember why he was there.  
  
It was the warm body of a young woman curled up on his chest that gave it away, really.  
  
Hermione, his angel, had finally fallen into his arms. Instinctively he tightened his grip around her shoulders, in case this was a dream, and on full awakening she would slip away with the last vestiges of sleep. But it wasn't a dream, and there was still a sleeping form, stirring slightly in response to his movements, when he looked down again.  
  
Although as an early riser, Severus would normally have spent this time reading the paper and drinking coffee, often laced with something to take away his hangover, he decided to stay still. His head was pounding as a result of copious amounts of alcohol consumed the night before.  
  
Mentally, he chided himself for drinking at all. After nearly twenty years of dedicated drinking, the threshold which he had to overcome to actually get drunk was rather high. Even though the night before he had been mostly in control of his actions, he had still drunk enough brandy to have a serious headache this morning. He forced himself to stay motionless, telling himself sternly that it was self induced, and that Hermione's emotional welfare was far more important than his comfort.  
  
He wasn't going to risk letting her awake alone.  
  
* * *  
  
The sun was fully up by the time that Hermione began to stir. She could feel it shining on her as she came to, radiating from the mural. It was much more pleasant than the usual flickering candle light she had grown accustomed to. She felt unaccountably warm, and it was only as she felt her body moving slightly with the rhythmic breathing of the chest she was resting on, that she remembered that she was not alone.  
  
Severus had his arms snugly round her shoulders, supporting her as she slept. With one hand he was idly playing with the tips of her hair, running it along his fingers. Thus held, she felt simply safe and warm.  
  
Raising her head she looked up to find him gazing at her, wearing a soft smile. She smiled in response, and he kissed her forehead. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she brought his face down for a proper kiss.  
  
When she settled herself back against his shoulder, he pulled up the bedcovers around them both, to guard against the early-morning chill in the air. Neither seemed willing to talk, to break out of the protective cocoon they found themselves in, in case they were unable to go back.  
  
Eventually he said "Good morning?" making it sound like the question it was meant to be.  
  
Stroking his chest, she replied, "Definitely. What are you thinking?"  
  
He paused, trying to edit his thoughts, before deciding in this case honesty was the way forward.  
  
"That I just made love to a student, and if Dumbledore doesn't fire me, then Minerva will wring my neck. And I'm desperately hoping that you aren't regretting what happened; or deciding that last night is all you wanted, and getting ready to let me down gently. That's about all the worries I have room for right now, so . . ."  
  
He let his voice trail away, trying to interpret what her silence meant.  
  
"You think I'm going to leave you? End this?"  
  
"No, I'm terrified that's what you're going to do, or someone else is going to make happen."  
  
She looked up at him thoughtfully, trying to find the words to reassure him. And to reassure herself, that she hadn't just jumped into a huge emotional black hole.  
  
What doesn't destroy you makes you stronger  
  
Strange that a Nietzsche quote should come into her mind at that very moment. Severus had a habit of quoting the one about the abyss and the monster to her. Holding him tighter she whispered,  
  
"Three months ago I could never imagine wanting anyone else to ever touch me again --- ever trusting anyone enough. But you changed that for me; in fact you can consider yourself responsible for restoring my faith in the male of the species. Last night was about that, for me. But I love you now more than I did before, because I don't just know I can trust you, I truly believe it.  
  
"And as far as anyone else ending this relationship is concerned, Dumbledore pretty much gave us carte blanche to do as we please. I'm not going to be the one that ends the relationship, and you know it."  
  
He was looking at her intently now as if trying to drag out her meaning from her emotions. The last few phrases had come out bossier than she intended, but that made them no less true. And anyway, that was just a sign of her old character reasserting itself, a feeling that she at least had some control over her life again.  
  
Probably cursing the fact that he was empathic not telepathic, he had to ask,  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
She took a deep breath and decided it was time for laying bear of souls, as their naked bodies were currently wrapped around eachother.  
  
"I have every reason to want to move on and away from Hogwarts. You don't. If you stay here you can carry on as before; and if you say the word I'll keep my promise to you. It's much more difficult for you to choose to be with me than it is for me to choose to be with you. You offer me love, security, support, experience, companionship; all I have to offer you is a total disruption to the routine of your life -"  
  
Which was as far as he let her get before he cut her off mid-flow.  
  
"You think that your loving me isn't the most important thing that's ever happened to me? You think that your trusting me hasn't made me feel alive for the first time in many years? You think that I wouldn't die for you if you needed me to?"  
  
"I know that you love me, I just don't know if it's enough."  
  
"What? Do you want me to prove myself."  
  
There was a hard edge creeping back into his voice as he spoke. Yes she thought yes, you will have to prove yourself to me, but not in anyway you expect. Which was not what she said.  
  
"No Severus, you don't have to prove yourself to me. Just don't push me away, please; I don't think I could stand that."  
  
In response he just stroked the soft skin on her back in small circles working his way down until he found the sensitive spot, which elicited a small gasp from her.  
  
"When I woke up this morning I was actually happy for the first time I can remember, holding a beautiful woman in my arms. We're a pair aren't we; just look how quick we've got rid of all the positive emotions."  
  
She moaned again, then said in a voice that was definitely husky, "What were you proposing to do about that?"  
  
"I had a few thoughts, if you're willing." He looked down into her brown eyes already clouded with desire, and knew what her answer would be.  
  
"Yes, Severus, make love to me. Properly this time." She added a touch mischievously.  
  
"Oh, I see I have a dissatisfied customer. Maybe you'd like an exchange." It seemed the Snape sarcasm had now woken up as well.  
  
"Can I have something less touchy please? This one seems to get his feathers ruffled at the slightest thing and constantly needs his ego bolstering."  
  
"Touché"  
  
"I mean, last night you let me use you to satisfy my curiosity. And while it was what I wanted then, it'd be okay for you to take control a bit."  
  
He rolled her fully onto her back and propped himself up beside her, before saying, "Just tell me if you want me to stop."  
  
She merely grinned as if to say of course and stretched herself out full length for him.  
  
He turned her face to one side, pulling her into a kiss that was more passionate than any they had yet shared, but instead of backing away from the intensity, she responded by pulling him closer, turning on her side to do so.  
  
Faces level she rubbed her body against his in slow, languid strokes as if they had all the time in the world. Which in truth, they did have. Their presence would not be required until lunch to finish the remains of the turkey, still five or so hours away.  
  
For most of the time, Severus held onto his control better than Hermione managed, but in the end they both formed a disorderly jumble of limbs, sweating and panting.  
  
Remaining close, they drifted to sleep.  
  
* * *  
  
Severus was gone and Hermione was lying alone in the double bed. She could still smell the scent of him in the air and on the bedding, and she had made little effort to straighten the tangled sheets.  
  
She was more concerned with untangling her emotions - every time she closed her eyes she could feel the ghost of his touches on her body, and remember the sensations of him moving inside of her. But then, just as she started to let herself be washed away by the images, there would be a stab of pain, dredged up from that other time.  
  
She was fighting to stop her mind tangling Severus in with Potter, to keep the memories separated, and barely succeeding. It had taken ever ounce of her vaunted Gryffindor courage to let him touch her, although she knew that was not the problem. It was not the foreplay that forced her to recall the past.  
  
It went against her nature to be so inherently selfish - she knew he was still mainly concerned with her pleasure, and it troubled her to think that some of that came from his belief that he didn't deserve to be happy, ever.  
  
Needless to say, Hermione didn't agree.  
  
She had no way of changing the past, even if she wanted to, so there was nothing left to do but move forward.  
  
About suffering they were never wrong,  
  
The Old Masters: how well they understood  
  
Its human position; how it takes place (W H Auden)  
  
Well, she would have the miraculous birth, but she hoped that Severus wouldn't be the child skating on thin ice. In the end, it was all about balance.  
  
And moving on.  
  
But sometimes to fight the future you had to face the past.  
  
* * *  
  
Several floors up, Severus Snape was standing in the circular living room above Dumbledore's office, the walls magically expanded so as to allow all the teachers remaining in school over the holidays to attend his post- Christmas party. Right now Snape was concentrating on being a Professor, and an aloof and intimidating one at that. It was necessary to avoid his thoughts drifting back towards Hermione, and the inevitable reaction that caused. Professor Sprout was talking to him, something about the new crops that he wasn't to dig up until she had taken cuttings to start the next years, and Professor McGonagall was glaring at him across the room, when Dumbledore caught him by the elbow and steered him away.  
  
"Was she awake when you left?" Dumbledore asked in an undertone when they were out of hearing distance.  
  
"Of course, I'm not that cruel yet." Then realising exactly what he had snapped, he winced, slightly.  
  
"Oh, don't fret, Severus, I'm not going to do anything, so long as this information remains between the three of us."  
  
"And I was planning to tell Minerva, just to prove that she could hate me more."  
  
"Now, Severus, that was uncalled for. All she sees is that when her students get themselves into trouble you always seem to be there."  
  
"Persecuting Gryffindors is my life's work, didn't you know."  
  
"Severus."  
  
"Headmaster."  
  
"So long as you don't persecute one particular Gryffindor."  
  
"I trust we're not referring to Potter."  
  
"Even I don't order miracles and expect them to work. No, I mean Miss Granger."  
  
"I don't intend to."  
  
"Good. Now I doubt anyone will notice should you want to slip away. Have a nice day."  
  
Which received a nod, and a minute or two later, Snape slipped unnoticed out of the door. It was one habit spying had taught him that he was thankful for.  
  
* * *  
  
Entering his room, he looked around for Hermione, and not seeing her, wandered into the bedroom. She was still in bed, her fingers worrying at the hem of the sheet, and looking towards the mural, which now showed another scene, one he had never seen before.  
  
She wasn't looking at the door, and seemed to have not notice him enter. He cleared his throat, trying not to startle her.  
  
She looked up, and smiled as he sat on the bed, and leant forward as he moved to kiss the sensitive spot between her eyes.  
  
Stroking her hair, he drew away, and chided,  
  
"Are you going to stay in bed all day?"  
  
"Don't know."  
  
"No, was the answer you were looking for."  
  
"Hmmpf."  
  
"Do you know how to double apparate?"  
  
"Yes, why?"  
  
"Tell you later. Go and get dressed. I'll be back soon."  
  
She wriggled out of bed and he watched her naked form all the way to the bathroom, before rising and heading down to the kitchens.  
  
A/N:  
  
Okay, some of your reviews have commented on the lack of detail. If you're looking for the unedited version, (i.e. NC-17) check the site listed as my homepage on my author page. The story is under the angst fics, and contains unabridged versions of Chapters 2, 18 and 19 (although the headings are slightly different there UNRAVEVELLING and CHRISTMAS). Thanks to Aurinia for mentioning it.  
  
The W H Auden poem is Musée des Beaux Arts, and is lovely, if depressing.  
  
The fight the future bit is an obvious reference to the X Files, good show, but I miss Mulder.  
  
Bye - Photis. 


	20. Accord

A/N:  
  
For kaptinsnot and snapefan51 who both reviewed to say they read all of this in one go . . . wow. . . you deserve a medal!!! Have a new chapter instead, and thanks for the reviews. Thank you to everyone else who followed the fic through the rating change as well ---lol, photis.  
  
Chapter 18: Accord  
  
Hermione was showered and dressed by the time Severus returned to his rooms, with a package tucked under his arm.  
  
"Don't forget your cloak, and gloves might be useful." He said as he gathered up the invisibility cloak of the back of his door and folded it.  
  
"Yes mother." He looked up as he placed the cloak and package into a bag and retrieved his own thick woollen cloak.  
  
"Now, now, Hermione, you know I'm not female."  
  
"True. But calling you father seems a little perverse."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"I hate it when you say that. I can never tell if you're amused or angry."  
  
"Neither. Now stop complaining and come along."  
  
"Yes, Professor."  
  
"Do I have to tell you again?"  
  
"Maybe, where are we going?"  
  
"To the Hogwarts gates."  
  
"And then?"  
  
"Somewhere else."  
  
"Tell me!"  
  
"No."  
  
"Please."  
  
"You'll see soon enough."  
  
Holding out his hand, he urged her through the door into his rooms, out into his office, then his classroom, locking and warding behind him as he went. He then led her into a secret passageway she never even guessed was there, and on through the darkness until they emerged out into the morning sun, at the castle walls, surrounded by deep undergrowth.  
  
The expression on Hermione's face said it all, when he headed out through the vegetation in what she assumed was the direction of the main drive.  
  
"What is this? You drag me out of bed and off on some mystery trip, through a secret passage and out into a pile of brambles? Is there a reason we can't go out of the front door?"  
  
"Yes. Stop moaning." He said with a rare grin, turning back to her, and promptly sweeping her off her feet and up into his arms. He grinned a bit more at her startled cry, then asked, "Better?"  
  
"Um." Was all she could manage for a while, temporarily dumfounded by the novelty of the situation, before she carefully composed a sentence.  
  
"I suppose you carrying me out of the shrubbery is infinitely less suspicious than us walking out of the main entrance. Or am I missing something?"  
  
"This is more fun."  
  
Huh? Said her brain. Severus Snape is talking about fun. When did I blink and enter an alternate universe.  
  
However, her mouth opened and out came, "Good point, well put."  
  
When they arrived at the drive, they were out of sight of the main doors, and only someone overlooking the lake would stand a chance of seeing them. Setting her down, he led her by the hand onto the gravel and set of down towards the gate.  
  
Sensing her hesitation, he explained, "Everyone'll be in lunch now, it's one."  
  
"Oh. Where are we going?"  
  
"Patience is a virtue."  
  
They finally arrived at the gate, an outside the apparition wards. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out his invisibility cloak, and hugging her against him, wrapped it round them both. The material stretched magically, to cover them both completely.  
  
"Remember to concentrate on me."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Have you ever done this before?"  
  
"Er.no. Is it like single apparition?"  
  
"Mainly, but you don't have the control of destination. Just concentrate on me like you would concentrate on your destination if you were on your own."  
  
"Let's go."  
  
They went.  
  
When they landed, it was dark. In fact it was five a.m.  
  
"Where are we?"  
  
Looking out ahead of her she could only see the sea, and various rocky coastlines stretching away to both sides of her. Turning, behind her was an old and withered tree with a circular wall built around its base. There was a pathway leading back towards the main coast, with a wire fence separating it from the road.  
  
"It's called The Lone Cypress."  
  
"The tree? You brought me to see a tree?! Anyway, that's not what I asked."  
  
"California, Pebble Beach, to be precise."  
  
"Is it a nature reserve?"  
  
"No, it's a golf course."  
  
"I'm confused. Anyhow, I thought you'd never been to America?"  
  
"I visited San Francisco once, as well as some other US cities. I didn't take any photos, though. I was on my own."  
  
"Did you go to L.A.?"  
  
"I don't like crowds, so no. I only went to San Francisco to see Alcatraz. I decided it wouldn't have been much good as a wizard prison. Then I got out of the sunshine state as quick as I could."  
  
[A shrug of his shoulders]  
  
"Did you go to any of the beaches then?"  
  
"I considered it, but it was the necessity of wearing shorts that put me off."  
  
"Now you're having me on!"  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"Stop it." She playfully slapped his shoulder.  
  
"Stop what?" He asked in a wounded tone.  
  
"That! Being purposefully unreadable."  
  
"And I thought women appreciated a man of mystery." His expression was one of pure perplexity now  
  
"Oh, I can't win." She leaned back against the tree, with an exasperated gesture.  
  
"You're finally learning." Now he looked smug.  
  
"Bastard."  
  
"It's been said before. Normally by Gryffindors." Still smug, and she wasn't going to let him get away with it.  
  
"That should tell you something then."  
  
"That Gryffindors only know one insult?" Her eyebrows shot up, before she conceded the truth of it to herself.  
  
"No, not that. (A sigh) So why did you bring me to commune with nature in the freezing cold?"  
  
"Ah well, this tree is about two hundred and fifty years old, and a symbol of something or other. (Hermione immediately straightened up.) Anyway we're here because the Muggles keep it fenced off, and that's like a red rag to a bull as far as I'm concerned. As we're here so early, I had planned to watch the sunrise."  
  
"I take it back, you're an incurable romantic. Quite shocking."  
  
"Then I probably shouldn't mention that I brought a picnic then. Turkey sandwiches."  
  
"How glamorous. I believe there might be a real heart under there after all."  
  
"Just don't tell anyone. And I don't do Valentine's Day. Ever."  
  
"Of course not, but you are required to remember my birthday. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone your secret. How would I be able to blackmail you then?"  
  
"We'll make a Slytherin of you yet."  
  
"Consider it your life's work."  
  
"You always have to have the last word."  
  
"Bad habit I picked up from a man I know."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
To shut him up as much as anything else, she kissed him, and when the both of them got carried away, they ended up missing the sunrise after all.  
  
* * *  
  
This new accord managed to get them through the rest of the holidays and into the new term without too many harsh words, or arguments. When the Hogwarts express brought the remainder of the students back, Hermione was forced to spend more time in her own rooms, ostentatiously at least.  
  
Snape had arranged for her fireplace to be connected on the floo network that joined the teacher's fireplaces, a request which Dumbledore had accepted with his usual knowing smile and lack of comment. This meant that Hermione was still able to spend her nights with her Potions Master after she had completed her homework and retired to her own room to 'sleep'.  
  
Some of this time was spent preparing and practising for the upcoming fight. Their skills were improving, but they had not practised on anyone other than themselves, so they had never been able to try their powers in synchrony, or get the timing right.  
  
This did not become a problem before late January, as neither of them had mastered their powers sufficiently to want any further challenges. But now, in early February, they felt like they were loosing time and opportunities to make sure they were going to get it right.  
  
There was only one solution. Dumbledore.  
  
He was going to be involved on the day itself, if only as the intended victim, so he would have to be briefed as to events and progress before the month was out. They decided to ask if he would be a guinea pig for them as well. They were, after all, trying to save his life.  
  
Despite thoughts of how this was all for the common good, however, were insufficient to make Hermione feel any better about what she was going to ask, or more precisely, they were going to ask. A sideways glance at Severus confirmed he was feeling similarly daunted, though hiding it better.  
  
Standing outside the stone gargoyle, he raised an eyebrow at her, and together they gave the password,  
  
"Treacle Toffee."  
  
* * *  
  
Albus Dumbledore stood to open his office door, and watched Severus and Hermione come up the escalator with appropriate looks of surprise at how he had known they were coming.  
  
They were here for something, he could tell, and he hoped it wasn't to ask his permission to let them marry. This close to Hermione's graduation he could not see the point in rushing things. Whatever it was, both of them seemed distinctly uncomfortable.  
  
He decided to make things a little easier on them.  
  
"Ah, Severus, Miss Granger, how nice to see you. Come in."  
  
They gave no visible reaction, just looked at one another, and Severus held open the office door while Hermione entered. Dumbledore studied Hermione as she moved and noted with satisfaction that she had hidden the signs of her pregnancy under her robes well. He suspected she had used several glamours as well. He still could not tell what was going on from either of their faces, which was not surprising in Severus, but marked a change in Hermione. She was certainly changing.  
  
Time to kick start the interview.  
  
"So, you have something to tell me?"  
  
They both nodded. Severus began, explaining the full details of their research and what the hints Severus had picked up from Voldemort and Potter. It took him a while to finish, and when he had, Dumbledore was still lost.  
  
It was not that he had not understood any of what they had said - he was very well versed in all the subjects they had covered - but he could not understand why this made them both so uncomfortable.  
  
He settled for a suitable knowledgeable and mysterious twinkle, and searched for the appropriate question to drag out the information he was searching for.  
  
"I see. Now, what is it exactly you are here to ask but don't want to."  
  
He could see from their faces he'd just notched his reputation for omniscience up several.  
  
"Well -" began Severus  
  
" - we were wondering - " Hermione continued  
  
" - if you could help us - " Severus had obviously swallowed his pride  
  
" - with finishing the research. We've encountered a problem - " Hermione with a rueful grin this time.  
  
" - with numbers, not the magic - " Severus was quick to point out.  
  
" - and if - " it seemed Hermione was about to get to the point.  
  
" - if we are actually going to know if this works - " Severus then, had the point.  
  
" - we need - " Hermione again  
  
" - to practise - " Severus was working himself up to it  
  
" - on someone other than us - " Hermione cringed as the words came out  
  
" - like you - " Severus clarified  
  
" - because we need someone powerful - " Was Hermione trying flattery?  
  
" - who we know won't report to Voldemort - " trust Severus to be practical.  
  
Dumbledore paused, slightly dizzy from trying to piece the conversation back together. He was forced to ask the question that was bouncing round his head.  
  
"Did you practise that?"  
  
They glanced at eachother and raised an eyebrow identically. "no" they replied, perfectly in time.  
  
Then you've been spending too much time together, he didn't say.  
  
"I see. What did you have in mind? For making me believe?" it was an important question he considered, as they were going to make Voldemort think he was dead.  
  
"Um, something like having a broken bone - " Hermione began.  
  
" - not pleasant, so your mind won't want to cooperate - "  
  
" - but easily repairable."  
  
They both looked hopeful.  
  
Think of the greater good, Dumbledore reminded himself, and they had a point, after all, they did need to practise.  
  
The things he did for science.  
  
"Are you ready to begin then?"  
  
"Now?" blurted out Hermione, before Severus said "If you wish."  
  
"We'd better do it before I change my mind."  
  
So they began, and after several attempts managed to succeed.  
  
Dumbledore found it highly inconsiderate the way they hugged one another before attending to his broken arm. It really hurt a great deal.  
  
For science, and the greater good he reminded himself.  
  
And you can't predict the responses of the young in love he told himself, before clearing his throat loudly.  
  
Hermione got the point immediately, as he suspected did Severus, but it was Hermione that jumped immediately and repaired the bone. Severus was much slower. Perhaps he was getting his own back.  
  
A/N:  
  
Big chapter coming up next - the great battle - but it's not the end, rest assured. Hermione still had to graduate.  
  
Please review and tell me what you think, and if you like where it's going, etc.  
  
Bye - Photis. 


	21. The Day

-----------------------------------------Author's Note---------------------- -------------  
  
Firstly, this chapter took a while in coming because the writing of it upset me so much that I found it difficult to write too much at any one time. It is twice as long as normal, by way of compensation.  
  
Secondly, as I said, this chapter is upsetting. If dealing with an untimely death is going to upset you, then don't read this chapter. In writing, this dredged up some very unpleasant memories, and this is a way for me to deal with them. I have tried to keep out too much raw emotion, but consider yourselves warned.  
  
Other than that, feel free to dismiss me as a neurotic crazy person, and read on.  
  
Finally, this is not the end, but we're getting close. If you have views on what should be tied up how, or things you would like to see, you're running out of time. Review and let me know!  
  
Enjoy - Photis  
  
  
  
Chapter 19: The Day  
  
Hermione scooped her porridge out of her bowl and let it fall trickle back of the spoon for what felt like the thousandth time that morning. She was desperately hungry, and she had taken to eating heartily as her pregnancy had advanced. That was mainly due to Severus's nagging, and the knowledge that he was watching every mouthful she ate from the high table, and taking note, though. At the moment, even the thought of his complaints, could not overcome the waves of nausea that swept over her every time she brought the spoon near to her mouth.  
  
Today was the day.  
  
There was nothing out of the ordinary to mark the significance of the day though, bar the swarm of butterflies currently in residence in her stomach. She had woken up as normal, and reluctantly crawled out of the warmth of Severus's bed and embrace, grumbling to herself as usual, before she had remembered that today was The Day.  
  
Immediately reverting to On-A-Mission mentality Hermione had left through the fireplace and washed and dressed in her own room, as was her habit, and then had departed for breakfast. Everything has to appear normal, she kept reminding herself, no-one can expect what is going to happen and that what we know, or it might not come to pass.  
  
Normal, usual, habitual . . . standard, regular, commonplace . . . customary, typical, natural . . .  
  
Hermione distracted herself from the gravity of the situation by listing every synonym she knew for the normality she strove for.  
  
When she entered the great hall, Severus had already been seated and eating. He looked as aloof and arrogant as normal, sitting separate from the rest of the teachers, even though he was physically next to them. Dumbledore looked serene, damn him, she thought, chastised herself for being so disrespectful.  
  
However she was not the only one suffering, she could see. Harry looked gaunt and pale, dark rings under his eyes hinted at a series of late nights. Hermione had heard a few rumours about what he did during those late nights, and then had encouraged the assumption that the rift between them had been caused by her jealousy over these trysts.  
  
They were welcome to him, as far as she was concerned. Unconsciously, she fingered the glass vial containing strengthening potion Severus had given her in her pocket, then stroked her bump reassuringly. She was still hidden beneath her robes, despite being six month pregnant, but she had to be careful about physical contact with her fellow students, lest her secret be found out by anyone.  
  
Severus seemed to be studiously ignoring her, she concluded after she looked at him to find him still staring at the opposite wall as he ate. Until midday, she was on her own, it seemed. She ran through a series of mental exercises she had developed to help her develop her ability in manipulating chi, and was comforted by completing them quickly and easily.  
  
Forcing down a mouthful of porridge, she swallowed deliberately. It wouldn't do to collapse from lack of food at the critical moment. When the main body of students started to leave the hall, Hermione left with them and headed towards the charms classroom for her first lesson. She felt like her legs were made of lead.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione crawled out of his arms, which was tacit permission for him to move. She had taken to sleeping nestled against his shoulder, which gave him a numb arm, stopped him from getting up hideously early in the mornings for fear of waking her, and the most incredible feeling of being wanted and needed. It had taken him a while to sort out what the strange emotions that had overtaken him had been, but once he had, he had become incredibly protective of her.  
  
Normally he didn't mind the enforced stillness in the mornings as it gave him time to watch her sleep, without her thinking that he was examining her somewhat critically. No matter how many times he told her she was perfect to his eyes, she never seemed capable of believing him.  
  
However, this morning he had been forced to think of the day to come. On any other day he would have found her peace and proximity relaxing, but today it just reminded him what he had to loose. The only chance he had of a life outside this place, a life that meant something.  
  
He had been graced with an angel, and he vowed to himself over and over that he would protect her no matter what. He did not like that she would have to take on this fight pregnant, in what would become the front line, though to be honest he did not like the fact that she would have to fight at all.  
  
But they had both known from the start it would be like this, and had prepared too long and hard to allow this chance to slip away from them. Unconsciously he held her a little tighter knowing that this was the last peaceful embrace they might share.  
  
"I love you." He had whispered to the darkened room. In her sleep, Hermione had smiled.  
  
Now, as he worked the blood back into his arm, he reminded himself of the need for this day to tick over like clockwork. He did not doubt that rumours had reached Voldemort from his spies within Hogwarts that both he and Hermione were planning something. If Voldemort had the slightest suspicion that Severus was aware of his plans, he could abort the whole mission.  
  
So they had agreed to act as regular as possible, which for Hermione had meant a charms lesson, and for him a fifth year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff potions lesson to teach. He watched as the realisation slowly dawned on Hermione of what was to come, and told himself he would nee to be strong for her. He was the master spy, the expert of subterfuge and deception, the one who would have to mask his emotions, so that she could follow suit.  
  
With which realisation, he rose and helped her fasten her robe, kissed her and sent her on her way through the fireplace. Any more and he would have come close to breaking down. He dressed hurriedly and stormed off in the direction of the great hall, where he would be surrounded by people. Once there he knew that he could put up his usual façade with ease; because they expected him to behave like a man without scruples, conscience or emotions, he found it easier to do so.  
  
When Hermione arrived he could not help following her with his eyes, his face fixed into a worried frown. Good start, he told himself. Then, hard as it was, he forced himself to ignore her and watched the wall over her head, mentally running through the alphabetical stock listings of the general students' potions store to distract himself.  
  
He found that doing so gave him a typically disinterested look.  
  
He sneered a little.  
  
* * *  
  
Dumbledore was more nervous than he could remember being for a long while. He carefully schooled his face into a look of pleasant contemplation and tried to forget the significance of the day.  
  
Today was the day where the boy he had saved from the wreckage of a destroyed home and a destroyed life would try to kill him. The day the boy he had protected and watched over and favoured since his birth would finally succumb to evil. He desperately hoped that Severus and Hermione were wrong, that nothing of the sort would happen, but in his heart he knew that they were correct. The verdict was in, and once again he had failed.  
  
The thought made his morning tea taste bitter despite the two spoonfuls of sugar he had added.  
  
He stirred another in, knowing it would make little difference and began studying the major players.  
  
Potter was there, the pawn, looking tired and distracted. He wanted to reach out to him, to try one last time to help, but every movement the boy made spoke of the distance between him and the rest of the world. He was out of control, but unfortunately someone else had taken up his reigns. He hoped that the rumours that reached his study were untruth and exaggeration, but he feared they were nothing of the sort.  
  
Severus sat some way down the table, to a casual observer as hard and uncaring as ever. Most definitely the knight, though the shininess of his armour was open for debate. Long fingers moving deftly, no hint of the pressure that must be crushing him, no outward display that anything bothered him. Just he deep sorrow buried in his black eyes that told Dumbledore that Severus was fighting for his lady, not his life.  
  
And the lady herself, a queen despite the absent way she played with her food and patted her unborn child. Sure of herself in her seat despite the flood of worries he expected she felt. Regal, self assured, and able to move in any direction she chose, at any given moment. Worth fighting for. Dangerous.  
  
And you? He asked himself. Considering how constricted he felt by events, probably the king, the ultimate target, but at the moment a bit useless, in need of protection. It was not a good situation.  
  
He sipped his tea, and wished that everyone else looked as terrified as he felt.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry Potter didn't feel himself this morning. In fact, he felt positively distant, and tired. Ron was talking in his ear, but he couldn't focus on the words let alone comprehend their meaning.  
  
The world was spinning. He felt . . . drained.  
  
And he was sure if he had remembrall that it would be glowing red by now. There was an unmistakable tension in the air, as sense of something pending. Something important . . . something crucial . . . something terrible. And it was going to happen today, he was sure of it.  
  
It had to do with him, of that much he was sure. The constant ache along his scar made it difficult for him to concentrate, but he made an attempt to think about things anyway.  
  
Through the haze he tried to remember where he had been last night. After a moment or two he gave up. It was as futile this morning as any other morning to try and reorganise his fragmented memories. On the edge of his consciousness there was a glimmer of something, screaming for attention, but every time he tried to examine it, something blocked it from his view.  
  
He had to find out what it was.  
  
He was going to do something today, and whatever it was, it was wrong. A part of him, however deeply buried knew this, and began to gear up for a fight, as the rest of his being ticked over on autopilot.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione felt that sneaking of like this was somewhat undignified, but necessary anyhow. She settled herself on the bottom step of the spiral staircase that led out of Dumbledore's office to his private rooms on the floor above. The entrance she had been surprised to find was hidden behind the picture of the first headmaster to take the post after the four founders had left the school to run itself. She noted with some smugness that he had been a Gryffindor, then reminded herself that history is written by the victors.  
  
Salazar Slytherin had been the one thrown out on his ear, and it was only fitting that the man in charge once the founders left was the protégée of the winner of the scuffle, rather than of the loser. The thought that any army should have a historian included as standard to do the onerous rewrites was entertained briefly, then dismissed as irrelevant. Anyway historians these days had been replaced by spin-doctors added the voice of trivia, before it was ruthlessly suppressed.  
  
This was not the time to let her mind wander she told herself. But it did provide a welcome diversion from the harsh light of day, and the torture of waiting.  
  
Beside her on the step was Severus, and together they were covered in his invisibility cloak, and around that Dumbledore had set up a series of wards and glamours to prevent either of them from being seen. The stairs were the only place in the office that could be guaranteed to be undisturbed, and so the only place where they could be sure to remain hidden.  
  
This fact, however, did not succeed in making them any warmer or more comfortable to sit on. Dumbledore looked perfectly comfortable in his plush chair, reading, as if he had not a care in the world.  
  
At half past eleven, Hermione had made her way under the cloak into Dumbledore's office, which had included some lively sidestepping in halls full of students. That was the sneaking she had found so undignified.  
  
The next fifteen or so minutes had been taken up running over the plan once again, and getting all the measures necessary to hide them in place. Ten minutes of uncomfortable silence had passed since then, as none of them wanted to risk speech in case Potter arrived while they were talking and so discovered them. He had a habit of being where he shouldn't when he shouldn't.  
  
It was five to twelve, and it seemed the Boy Who Lived was cutting it fine.  
  
Just when Hermione had resigned herself to the fact that they were wrong, and that he wasn't coming, there was a knock on the office door. Dumbledore nearly fell out of his chair, and beside her she felt Severus tense in readiness.  
  
"It's him." He whispered.  
  
Dumbledore called out for him to come in.  
  
"Harry." Dumbledore opened amiably. "To what can I owe the pleasure of this visit?"  
  
"I needed to talk to you."  
  
"About?"  
  
"Well, I've been feeling not myself for a little while now. There are these whole periods where I can't remember what's happened, and it's like there's someone else in my head . . . I can't explain it . . ."  
  
Don't fall for it Hermione pleaded silently he remembers everything, he's trying to fool you . . . don't buy it.  
  
But Dumbledore it seemed was buying it. His relief that Harry had come to him to tell him the truth instead of try to kill him was almost palpable. He was glowing with the knowledge that when it came down to it, his brave Gryffindor had the courage to fight back, to draw the line at murder.  
  
Which was what led him to make an almost fatal mistake.  
  
He turned.  
  
The motion was probably going to be one intended to tell Hermione and Severus to quit their hiding place, that the attack was no longer needed. However it was never completed, as the instant he began to move, Potter drew his wand.  
  
"Petrificus totalus"  
  
Dumbledore, unfortunately, never even saw it coming, and slumped back into his chair.  
  
Beside her, Hermione felt Severus react, summoning up his energy for the empathic gymnastics he was about to undertake, and downing the contents of the strengthening potion in a single gulp.  
  
Harry Potter's voice began to fill the office, taking on a strangely resonant quality peculiar to rituals in high language.  
  
"Spirits of air, water, earth and fire, I call on thee;  
  
Watchtowers of the north and south, east and west, I beseech thee;  
  
Guardians of sun, stars and moons, I command thee;  
  
On this day on reckoning and balance, hear my voice.  
  
The alignment of elements, direction and the celestial temples shall be thrown open at my decree.  
  
Draw back that which you have granted -  
  
Half way through the opening incantations, Potter faltered, or rather Voldemort speaking through Potter's body faltered. He could obviously feel the gathering clouds of death and desolation that Severus was gathering over him. He stumbled on a little more in the invocations, before becoming ensnared in the web of pain and destruction that Severus was weaving for him.  
  
Hermione felt the gentle squeeze of her fingers and knew it was time to do her part. She downed the contents of her vial and winced at the foul taste. Now she knew the reason for the hours and hours of practise she had done. Her mind followed the well established pathways and sought out the rifts in the chi of the individual before her.  
  
They were not so much rifts as deep chasms - the man (if you could call him that) simply refused to believe that he was dying. And he was stubborn.  
  
That was to be expected. Voldemort had a lot to loose; she supposed he valued his life even if no one else did.  
  
She began to smooth over the cracks, skilfully melding one angular plane into another, reuniting jagged edges seamlessly. As each fissure was closed the next one came a little easier; it was obvious he was succumbing to what the choking emotions around him were telling his mind.  
  
Slowly, but surely he was loosing control of his surroundings and faculties and Hermione was pressing her advantage. Fleetingly, her mind told her she was winning, but that thought was ignored. There were no winners in a fight like this.  
  
By the end of this day she would be responsible for taking a human life, no matter how despicable the human was, or she would be dead, or worse, a captive at the hands of Voldemort. There would be nothing as prosaic as a winner on this fateful day.  
  
That knowledge as much as anything else was draining Hermione. And she was feeling drained. Leaning against Severus for a little support, she drew comfort from his warmth beside her, at the same time as she registered his tiny shudders of exertion. She hoped it was just exertion and nothing worse; that he was not becoming ensnared in his own traps.  
  
Taking each rupture became an exercise in will-power as she ploughed on regardless, until she finally realised that there were no more. Her part was almost done - all that remained was the incantation of binding, and then the day would be over, if not won.  
  
"Now, Severus." She whispered.  
  
Together they began the incantation:  
  
In status naturum ligo - in locus naturum impedio.  
  
Erebus spectator derelinqo.  
  
Hoc veritas est - ut te sentio; tam credo  
  
Esto immotus; hoc meus issum est  
  
[Erebus (god of darkness) forsake your acolyte. Bind this being in this state - restrain this essence in this place. This is the truth - as you feel; so believe. Be still; this is my command]  
  
Together they let out a collective breath of relief. Potter had collapsed to the floor. His body was shaking slightly and a faint keening was escaping his lips. Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow at Severus, who shook his head, and answered;  
  
"Something's wrong. Voldemort's weak, almost dead, but he's hanging on. He always was a tenacious bastard."  
  
"I think he's loosing control of Potter's body though . . ."  
  
Hermione stood, casting away the cloak, leaving Severus beneath it, and crossed the floor to Dumbledore. Releasing him with a 'finite incantum' he briefly asked after his welfare before continuing on to Potter.  
  
Kneeling by his side she could feel the waves of negativity stemming from where she had been sitting. Somewhere deep inside her the faintest stirrings of pity began; not for Voldemort, but for the boy he had destroyed. The boy who had been her best friend for six years and who had shared countless adventures with her, and the father of her child.  
  
With a sure touch, she removed the wand from his limp grasp, and then on an impulse stroked his unruly hair back from his forehead. The scar was red and terribly inflamed, and his eyes were screwed shut as if trying to block out some nightmare.  
  
Harry Potter can feel it too; she realised, and rolled him over so he was half on his back and half on his side. He was pale and sweating, for a moment she just looked at him, wondering if she could ever truly forget.  
  
Suddenly his eyes snapped open, and she jumped back as if burned. For a moment he tried to raise himself, the irises glowing a fiery red, trained directly on her. Then he slumped back, his eyes suddenly becoming unfocused, their colour fading back to the natural green. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but a dry rasp was all that escaped.  
  
Behind her, Hermione could hear Dumbledore calling the ministry to send aurors over immediately, giving the bear bones of the situation. She listened with half an ear, watching Harry like he was a coiled snake, ready to spring at any moment.  
  
"Hermione? . . . Are - you - there? . . . Is - that - you?"  
  
Each word was punctuated by laboured breaths, gasps of real pain that made his speech falter. But it was the look of lost vulnerability on his face, desperation and fear that made her answer. For a moment he looked like the boy she had once known and loved, not the monster he had become.  
  
"Yes, Harry I'm here."  
  
"Wha . . . wass . . . what's happening?"  
  
Someone had once told her that you couldn't lie to the dying; you just had to tell the truth, because they had a way of knowing what it was anyway. Time to hit him hard, because there had been too many compromises made up to this point.  
  
"Voldemort had been possessing you body all year. At this moment he's put all of his essence into you, and we're trying to kill him while his soul is separate to his body and so weaker. He's nearly dead, but not quite."  
  
He paused, processing the information, and for a while she thought he was going to fall into unconsciousness. But then, a shadow passed across his face, a spectre of determination and honest courage. Looking up, he asked in a grating voice,  
  
"I can feel him, Hermione. Tell me how to kill him. How to get him out of my head once and for all . . ."  
  
Hermione scrutinised him, after all he had fooled Dumbledore, and she wasn't going to be taken unawares. But in the end she had to concede for the first time in a while that this was just Harry, and that he was telling the truth.  
  
"Voldemort is using your body to keep him alive, so you need to force him out. Summon up all your anger and rage and hatred for him, and use it to separate him from your mind, just focus on getting him out!"  
  
He looked into her eyes and nodded. Somehow one of his hands found hers, as he squeezed his eyes closed again. She could feel the energy running through him, and the influence of Voldemort growing weaker as Harry concentrated on driving him out.  
  
Steadily she could feel it was working. Finally she saw Severus stand, the stunned amazement on his face speaking volumes across the room. They had succeeded.  
  
Dazed, she looked down to Harry, whose clammy hand she still held in hers. There was a trickle of blood running down from his scar, the old wound had reopened, and this wrist felt suspiciously heavy in her grip. His whole body was limp, but his eyes were open, green and staring into hers.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Hermione. Please. Believe that. Can you accept my apology? Is it unfair to ask?"  
  
He coughed, and the spittle that appeared on her lips was flecked with red. The awful pallor that had descended on his skin had worsened, taking on a definite grey and cyanotic tinge.  
  
"I forgave you so that I could get on with my life Harry. I'll never forget, but I can remember the good times too. If that helps."  
  
He looked up at her again, the look in his eyes making her feel as if all pretence was being stripped away. Vaguely she was aware of the fire flaring green and the room filling with people, but her attention was trained on Harry.  
  
With the last of his strength, he moved the hand which clasped hers to brush against her swollen stomach, before letting it drop. He didn't say anything, but the brightness that appeared in his eyes spoke more than any words right then could have. The regret was written there clearly as well.  
  
His head dropped back, and his eyes fluttered shut, and in that instant, Hermione knew that whatever his crimes, she didn't want him to die. The reality that he might had been something she had blocked from her mind, telling herself she didn't care, that it didn't matter, that he deserved it. Now she knew that she could never hate anyone that much.  
  
Leaning in closer, she grasped his shoulders and shook him, succeeding in rousing him briefly.  
  
"Hang on, Harry, it'll be okay." She forced out of building emotion.  
  
He regarded her with that look that had always sent a shiver down her spine. That look that said he'd seen his parent's ghost; relived their murders over and over. That look that said he'd know neglect and loss and fear; that look that made her thing of lost dreams and crushed hopes. That look that told her of the constant struggle to prove himself, to find his place in the world, that had ultimately ended in disappointment. That look that held every brush with death he had ever had, and made him look older than any teenager should ever be.  
  
Harry Potter managed to hold her gaze for several seconds. When he spoke it was in a voice so distant, removed from all emotion, and the constraints of this world. It had an almost ethereal sound.  
  
"S'okay now. S'not cold here, s'okay, I've found . . . whatever it was I was . . ."  
  
His voice trailed away with the though that he never finished. His eyes drifted shut, and overcome, Hermione leant forward to nestle her face close to his ear.  
  
"I accept you apology." She murmured, as a solitary tear rolled down her cheek and into his tousled hair.  
  
But in her heart of hearts, she knew that he hadn't heard her. Not in this world anyway. Wherever he was, she hoped he knew.  
  
Lost for anything else to do, she wrapped her arms around him, willing his chest to rise again under her.  
  
Time. She thought. Time had won today.  
  
* * *  
  
Severus Snape had watched the woman he loved cross the floor to the boy who had violated her, and kneel close to him, touch him. He was detained from going to her by the need to keep up his empathic transmissions. Rather like drinking and walking, he couldn't do both at the same time.  
  
Then the aurors had tumbled out of the fireplace at Dumbledore's request moments after he felt Voldemort finally quit and die, who detained him still further with pointless questions and attempts to catch up with what was going on.  
  
The distance across the floor seemed to have opened up into an impassable ravine, and all he could do was watch as she continued to hold his hand, and talk to him. There was no anger on her face, no hatred. Her face showed utter calm and complete composure. It seemed she was building bridges, just not ones that would allow him to come to her.  
  
When Potter hand moved his hand to touch his baby, Severus felt white hot rage course through him, and jealousy surge up. The fact that Hermione didn't flinch, his Hermione, caused bile to rise in his throat. No words were said as Potter fell back, but he recognised the expression on her face.  
  
It was the look of compassion she had until now reserved for him. It was the set of her features that made her skin glow lighter, her face grow more beautiful than he had ever seen. In short, her whole body was transfigured into that of an angel by sorrow and care. And she was sharing that with Potter.  
  
In his shocked and horrified state, he watched her as if in slow motion lean forward as if to hug Potter, then at the last moment, shake him as if to rouse him. She had succeeded, he could see, and the lingering connection that was established made his heart race a few beats faster than it already was.  
  
He couldn't hear the words that Potter spoke, but whatever they were, he was cracking Hermione's composure. He saw the tears well in her eyes, and a mask of grief settle on her face as she collapsed forward to hold Potter in her arms.  
  
It was too much to bear. He finally broke out of the restraints - imagined or real - that had been preventing him from reaching her. It was only when he reached her side that he first noticed that Potter wasn't breathing. Hermione had wrapped her form around the boy beneath her, and was shaking all over. He grasped her trembling body in his arms and lifted her away, calling Dumbledore as he did.  
  
As he cradled Hermione in his arms, he watched Potter be levitated onto a stretcher and the shocked whispers growing among the assembled masses. He could catch bits of phrases, but emotions racing through his mind were far more intense than he could remember and seemed to be shutting down all his cognitive processes.  
  
". . . say's that You-Know-Who is . . ."  
  
"Potter's dead, what on earth had been . . ."  
  
"Well, we can't be sure until we find a body . . ."  
  
". . . those teams should start a search immediately . . ."  
  
". . . already contacted the minister for warrants . . ."  
  
"We'll have to keep this under wraps until we have full details . . ."  
  
It was all too much, Severus decided, then looked down at Hermione, and saw she had reached the same conclusion ahead of him. Her shudders had subsided, but it appeared she was now talking to herself. Above the din and commotion he strained to make out her words.  
  
"This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening. . ." her voice alternately trailed away to nothing, then picked up again. Whatever was going on, she had retreated into her own world. Briefly he considered joining her, trying to block out the overwhelming gamut of stimuli that were assaulting his senses.  
  
As he closed his grip around her, huddling into their own private cocoon, he felt hands and heard voices urging him up. It seemed the party was decamping to the infirmary, and he was expected to follow.  
  
Focusing on the need to help and support Hermione he staggered to his legs and lifted the girl in his arms with him.  
  
Together they wandered down the steps and into the corridor, arms entwined around one another, Hermione with her face pressed into his chest.  
  
Trouble was, there was a group of people waiting for them in the corridor.  
  
* * *  
  
After that first tear, Hermione couldn't seem to summon any more up. Tears seemed to be such a useless way to express her, so she merely hugged Harry a bit closer, praying to any deity that would listen to grant him safe passage to wherever he was going.  
  
Shortly afterwards, she felt strong hands lifting her away, and voices calling around her. The arms seemed to be shaking, which was strange, so maybe she was the one shaking, she reasoned. That's good, she told herself, you can still reason.  
  
Arms enfolded her, and she recognised the familiarity of the embrace without knowing from where. Once again, thinking was not good, and she allowed the familiar dreamy separation to come over her mind and body, and started up on her personal mantra:  
  
THIS WAS NOT HAPPENING  
  
She could not tell where the words came from, but they rang in her ears, and she shut her eyes as tight as she could.  
  
Thus removed from the world, she had no concept of the passage of time. Hence it could have been seconds or hours later that the same strong arms pulled her to her feet. She could think of no reason to resist, she associated the arms with safety, after all.  
  
The process of walking helped bring her back towards reality slightly, enough to recognise that she was in Severus's arms, and part of a very strange procession. Instinctively she grabbed tighter onto the solid body beside her, and turned her face away from the light, which was the reason she did not see the gathered students in the hallway they had just entered.  
  
The sound of angry clashes reached her ears without any of the words being processed by her mind. The sound of her name made her ears prick, though.  
  
"Hey Granger!" she knew that voice, just couldn't place it.  
  
"Congratulations Granger! How very unGryffindor of you!" Ah, now she knew. The ferret himself, Malfoy.  
  
"Finally got your revenge, did you? Though killing Potter was excessive -"  
  
His sentence was cut off as Dumbledore finally managed to silence him, but he had the aurors intrigued. Cutting through from the side of the group came Cornelius Fudge himself, Hermione saw with horror. And he was interested.  
  
"This was an attempt to kill He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Successful, if we are to believe . . . what do you mean?"  
  
Hermione could see the slow look of triumph spread across Malfoy's face, quickly masked by a look of innocent cooperation.  
  
"Yes Minister, I'm sure that's what granger has you all believing. But she was in this to kill Potter. She's pregnant. By Potter. Because he raped her. And now she's out for revenge. Looks like she got it."  
  
His gaze fell on Potters supine form. Haven't I suffered enough! What have I done? Why me? Hermione felt like screaming out to whatever controlling force was doing this to her. She settled for letting out all the breath she hadn't realised she had been holding in her lungs.  
  
Suddenly, she felt very dizzy, and leaned on Severus for support.  
  
Fudge was turning towards her, asking something, but she couldn't hear. The blood was pounding in her ears, and it took all her effort to keep breathing. Regular, remember? She told herself. In, out, couldn't be simpler. Then why was it so difficult?  
  
She lurched as the horror of the whole year and tonight washed over her, a surge of conflicting emotions and thoughts, stockpiled fears and hopes, worries and memories, that made her feel like she was drowning in accumulating feelings. She groaned as the baby she carried moved within her, and made a last grab at consciousness as it flowed through her mental fingers like sand.  
  
Finally giving in, she let the darkness take her safe to Morpheus's care, and vaguely felt arms catch her as her knees buckled and her body went limp.  
  
Though she wasn't aware of it, the corridor around her suddenly became as silent as the ether through which she was currently drifting. Neither cold nor warm, neither thin nor cloaking; it just was and was not at the same time. It was nothing and everything, and she floated on, temporarily buffered, until she was ready to return.  
  
In deathly hush, Severus picked up Hermione's unconscious form and moved towards the infirmary. His sense of purpose made him the undeniable leader of the procession, and the rest just followed him tamely.  
  
The grief that exuded from every pore ensured the quiet was maintained longer than reason would have dictated. 


	22. Endings

Chapter 20:  
  
It was nice here. Safe. Unthreatening. No raised voices, no pain or death or pressure. These were the thoughts that filtered through to Hermione, as if sent from another mind, far away, corrupted by static. Though hers was the only mind here, she knew that. Still what she knew no longer mattered, thought processes were a distant memory; a worry for another day.  
  
Virtually obscured by the intervening distance were the voices, snippets of which filtered through. They were much quieter. And it was easy to choose not to listen, feint as the words were. The temptation to do so was great. When she weighed the calm of her current state against the angst-ridden sounds of those words, the decision became much easier.  
  
She chose to stay where she was, in the place that was not really there, but was the entirety of her reality for the moment. It was not a decision that she took without a certain amount of regret attached - the image of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man was the one thing that kept her from drifting further than she could currently perceive.  
  
In this place, it was most likely possible to cross over the horizon. The way back would be complicated though.  
  
To avoid the heart-ache that memory caused, blurry and incomplete as it was, she examined the place around her. This examination turned up some interesting conclusions. This was a place with no name. It was not a place of dreams or nightmares; it is not a place of good or bad; it is just a place. This was a place which had no name, nor could it ever have. It was the makings of free-fall, the aching of loneliness, boredom and loss; or maybe Hermione thought, maybe it was her emotions that were in free- fall; maybe she was unwilling to allow them to settle for fear of allowing the past to return.  
  
As she made these discoveries, the voices faded away, and people shifted to an even further distance. The only thing that remained constant was that presence by her side, a presence she knew every intimate detail of, that haunted her mind in this empty place, calling her back.  
  
And then, in an epiphany that was singularly undramatic, she realised what she had been struggling to find for so long. There was nothing here. No answers. Nothing more to find than was already within her. This was no way to face the world, or her problems, or past. She had to go back.  
  
* * *  
  
Severus Snape had sat by Hermione Granger's bedside for nearly the whole time she had been in the infirmary. After she had collapsed in the corridor, she had not regained consciousness, and showed little sign that she was aware of the world around her since. That had been four days ago, Dumbledore mused, and he had to confess he had no ideas what was going on in her head.  
  
Neither did Poppy Pomfrey, who could say nothing more than her state was akin to that of a very deep sleep. Physically, she was unharmed. After it became clear that first day that she was not going to awaken, the ministry officials had left, demanding to be informed as soon as she awoke.  
  
The aurors had left almost as soon as the details of what had happened had been explained, eager as they were to begin searching for a body. They were anxious to have that confirmation this time around, it seemed, and were currently storming all the haunts of his known followers. The way his death eaters were running scarred provided all the impetus they needed, and the assurance that they would not storm into one of his strongholds and meet the man himself in all his magnificence.  
  
All celebration, in fact all mention of what would come to be known as a glorious victory, had be strictly forbidden. Dumbledore had happily complied with that; he too was searching for the words and the time to tell the school what happened and how, perhaps why, and having the body of Voldemort found to start with would definitely make it easier to begin.  
  
At the moment, all Dumbledore knew for certain was that there had been no revels, no attacks, no raids of deaths in the magical community, and that the dark mark that had marred Severus's flesh was now gone. That, along with Severus's word and account of events, was good enough for him to believe.  
  
However the lack of a body was not only suspending celebration and announcement, but the investigation that had been promised. Fudge, who was still in power despite his disastrous, short-sighted refusal to move against Voldemort at the end of the TriWizard Tournament, was being deliberately obtuse. This time there was no Barty Crouch to lead the purge of the magical society, no zealot on a mission to destroy dark wizards everywhere, just a man who wanted as little trouble as possible.  
  
Dumbledore knew, without a doubt, that should he allow it Hermione and Severus would be the scapegoats for the events of four days previous. There was no way the ministry could condemn Harry Potter without revealing just how extensive Voldemort's power had become, something Fudge did not need.  
  
For in this campaign Voldemort had taken a slightly different tack. He had not declared all out war on the magical world, preferring instead to target key people with fatal precision. The fodder for revels was drawn from the Muggle community world wide - apparition made it easy to spread the losses - instead of the children and family of witches and wizards on the side of good. It had been a master stroke, taking out the people who argued loudest that decisive action needed to be taken against Voldemort, whilst giving the rest little incentive (or personal vendetta)to make themselves targets.  
  
That had given Voldemort the time he needed to establish himself once again, while allowing Fudge to play down the threat he posed, using the media to reassure people, and more importantly, retain his own position. It had been Dumbledore's actions, and those of the Order of the Phoenix, that had held the situation in check for as long as it had been. And now it was over.  
  
He had seen in the way Fudge pushed through the crowd to listen to Malfoy's groundless accusations that Fudge was looking for anything to explain away the fact that Voldemort had nearly succeeding in killing Dumbledore and taking over Hogwarts to boot. The gleam in Fudge's eye as Malfoy had spoken, and his steady countenance thereafter confirmed that he was going to use that slander to his advantage.  
  
Malfoy deserved to have his mouth sown shut, Dumbledore noted grimly, but that would not help the situation now.  
  
No-one had discussed the accusation that Potter had raped or impregnated Hermione, although it was clear to see that she was pregnant while Severus had carried her, at least not official. Neither had anyone discussed Severus's supposed part in this revenge killing Hermione had plotted, although the ministry, or rather Fudge, had requested that he be suspended from his post until the investigation had been completed. Dumbledore had of course complied, but had not had the heart to remove him from the school.  
  
In truth, it would have taken an act of the gods to pry Severus away from Hermione's unconscious form. It was refreshing to see Severus showing such healthy, normal emotions; to show any emotions at all, other than self loathing in private or arrogance in public. He just hoped that Hermione would awake soon, because without her Severus was quickly falling apart, and this time he would surely descend even deeper than before.  
  
The young lady in question had to wake up, if only to enjoy the life she had fought so bravely to earn, and to give her child a mother. The world had enough orphans already.  
  
* * *  
  
Severus was tired and grumpy. He was fed up of being watched and checked up on, and reminded to eat and sleep. The last time Dumbledore had tried, he had growled that should any of his actions come close to causing him fatal damage he would be required to desist by that 'damn charm', so he could stop fretting and go away.  
  
Dumbledore had move away slightly to watch the two of them for some time, lost in silent contemplation, then to Severus's huge relief, left without further comment.  
  
Now he thought about it, his whole back was aching from leaning on her bed, and for some reason so was his left shoulder. Sleeping sitting upright had been a blast from the past - the last three months had been spent in a bed with Hermione beside him - and he didn't regret stopping that habit.  
  
His magic was just returning to full strength after six days, and he assumed Hermione had suffered the same drain on her strength, even if she had not realised it in her sleeping state. Looking down, he rolled back his left sleeve to look at the pale unblemished skin there, and was reminded what it was all for.  
  
Damn the bigger picture, if I can't be happy. He thought. Forget the common good, what about me?  
  
Because you're still paying the debt you can never write off, came his answer, you're paying, and she's paying, and it's still not enough.  
  
He looked up, his face tight with pain, to find Hermione gazing up at him.  
  
"Is it gone?" she whispered.  
  
"Yes. It's gone. We did it. We actually did it and made it out alive." He was grinning, probably idiotically, but right now he didn't care.  
  
All he cared about was gathering Hermione into his arms again and holding on in case she tried to slip away again. Which he did.  
  
In return she wound her arms around his waist and squeezed against him. The moment didn't need any words, so none were wasted.  
  
When Madame Pomfrey bustled in, neither broke away.  
  
* * *  
  
Poppy Pomfrey couldn't help herself, and when she considered it, didn't see why she should - this was her infirmary and the patients were her guests. If they wanted to keep their secrets, then they should keep their voices down.  
  
After having walked in on the couple hugging, she had gone against her normal instincts of ending all physical contact immediately when it was not strictly platonic, and let them continue to hug. It seemed to be as far as they were going, and they clung to eachother with a desperation she had rarely seen.  
  
Once it became apparent that Hermione had fallen asleep once again, she had wrestled her out of Severus's grip and checked her over, pronouncing her fit and the baby unharmed, and the sleep this time to be much lighter. Severus had remained stubbornly in his chair, if anything looking more worried than before, probably by the prospect of loosing her once again.  
  
This was the point at which she had rejoined to her office, to call Dumbledore about her patient's recovery, and to escape the intensity of the emotions swirling around the room. He had told her that until Hermione was fit enough to face the inquisition, this development should not be told to anyone else.  
  
Poppy had understood his meaning well enough.  
  
So she had held her tongue, and it was maybe an hour or two later that the voices had started up:  
  
"Hey, you're awake."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"Is that a 'be quiet' ?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Good. I love you, Hermione, and I thought I'd lost you for a while."  
  
"I love you too - but you know it'll take more than Voldemort to get me off your back."  
  
"It certainly will. He's currently as influential as a pile of dust."  
  
They had both laughed at that, and Poppy had privately wondered, but then maybe that was just their way of dealing with things.  
  
"So it worked then?"  
  
"Yes. What exactly do you remember?"  
  
"I haven't tried to, I'm concentrating on now."  
  
"That's okay; don't push yourself until you're ready."  
  
"Was it that bad?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then that must have been what I was hiding from . . ."  
  
"Hiding?"  
  
"Long story. So, I did my bit - but it didn't work as fully as it should have. I - I - what then?"  
  
"You went to Potter."  
  
"Yes - I went to Harry - told him how to fight - and then - oh gods - oh --- "  
  
At which point her voice had cracked as the memory washed over her full force.  
  
"Is he really dead?"  
  
"I'm afraid so."  
  
"And did Malfoy really say all that stuff to the minister of magic?"  
  
"If you mean by stuff, give out a motive for you to murder Potter, and accuse you, us, of doing just that, then yes, he did, bastard that he is."  
  
"Hmm. When do a get the chance to turn him into a ferret?"  
  
Snape paused, perhaps fighting laughter, perhaps frowning. "That might not be the best of ideas right now."  
  
"I know, but thinking about it makes me feel better."  
  
"Still -"  
  
His voice was cut off as Dumbledore himself entered her office, and she gave him her full attention.  
  
"How is Miss Granger's condition now?"  
  
"She seems to have improved dramatically - her prolonged sleep was a way of avoiding dealing with her troubles, I gather."  
  
"Is there any chance of the situation recurring?"  
  
"So long as she's not put under too much stress, I doubt it."  
  
"Then I would like to see her, see them both. I need to inform them that the funeral is taking place tomorrow."  
  
Poppy nodded, and gestured towards the room in which Hermione and Severus were to be found, but declined to join him.  
  
This time, she shut her office door, which activated the silencing wards.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione looked up as the door to her room opened, as did Severus, to see Dumbledore ease his way through it. He was smiling, but reservedly so. He looked both happy and sad at the same time, a feeling Hermione could easily relate to.  
  
He inquired gently about her health, and her comfort, and had similar words for Severus. It was true Hermione noted, that Severus looked haggard and drawn, but he joy shining through his features had stopped her from noticing it thus far. He had seemed perfectly happy to carry on, and was capable of doing so, and said as much when asked.  
  
It was at this point that Hermione noticed him become uncomfortable. He had evidently run out of safe topics, and was now faced with moving on to more difficult ones. Curiosity battled with a desire to shield herself from whatever could make Dumbledore uncomfortable.  
  
Curiosity won. "Would you mind telling me what's being happening in the world since the solstice?"  
  
"Well . . . Miss Granger . . . Hermione . . . quite frankly there's been a lot of trouble since that incident in the corridor. Cornelius Fudge has latched onto the accusations and is trying to use it to keep his position."  
  
Both Hermione and Severus frowned at this, in confusion, not in anger. Anger was to come later.  
  
"Fudge cannot let the scale of Voldemort's power or destruction become public knowledge, which it would if he told the truth about events. So rather than paint you two as heroes, he prefers to paint you as villains who killed Harry Potter with revenge in mind.  
  
"There's currently a search for Voldemort's body going on, and it's more than likely that whoever finds the body will also be credited with having defeated him. The details will be classified of course, that being a quick fix for everything, and Fudge will be applauded as Minister, instead of the true cost of his refusal to believe becoming apparent.  
  
"So at the moment I'm doing my best to keep them out of this school, and away from the two of you. There will be a full investigation and a trial, of course, but that's a worry for another day. No seriously, Hermione, we can and will protect you, and get Fudge out of office as well.  
  
"But for now there is one more important matter. I came to see how you are because I wanted to know if you'd be well enough to leave the school tomorrow. Oh dear, that came out terribly, I don't mean for good, I mean for a day. . ."  
  
Hermione had looked up with a sudden clarity in her eyes, and squeezed Severus's hand a little tighter. When she spoke, her voice was choked, but there were no tears in her eyes.  
  
"You're burying him tomorrow, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Godric's Hollow, the plot next to his parents, to be exact."  
  
"Of course. I'm not sure how welcome I'll be though."  
  
Dumbledore smiled and inserted, "All his teachers are going; I would insist that you were there anyway."  
  
"How . . . thoughtful . . . of you."  
  
"I have my moments."  
  
During this exchange, though, Hermione had drifted away with her thoughts. She had no idea what was going to happen to her, or how one night could reduce the structure of a carefully planned out future to ashes. The only thing she knew was that now Harry was dead, she couldn't blame him, or hate him.  
  
In lieu of anything else to do, she studied the grain of wood in the door.  
  
A/N:  
  
Credit to MysticJedi for the Malfoy's mouth being sown shut quote - it was in her review, and I loved it!!!  
  
Photis. 


	23. and Beginnings

Chapter 21: Beginnings?  
  
The funeral had been underway for a while now. Severus Snape stood at the back of the crowd, looking as properly disinterested as he should, and earning himself stares of disapproval.  
  
He wasn't interested. Dumbledore had been characteristically cunning in demanding the presence of all Potter's teachers so that Severus's presence could be justified. However nothing justified standing shoulder to shoulder with Hermione at this moment. They were playing endgame and needed now more than ever precision control over themselves and their appearances.  
  
Instead of pining to be with Hermione, he concentrated on projecting emotions of calm and composure to her across the crowd. Shielded by all the other people, it was no easy task. But it was necessary.  
  
Ronald Weasley had been there with the rest of the clan, all looking suitable distraught. For himself, he couldn't countenance such an outward display of emotion. Why did these people need to prove to the world how much they were grieving; why did they need to prove publicly how much they loved the deceased? Shrugging it off, he decided maybe it was just their way, and each to his own.  
  
But Ron, as soon as he had seen Hermione had felt compelled to rush to her side and ask her if it was true. 'There's lots of truth out there. Which one were you searching for in particular?' He had heard her say as he moved away, and had smiled. It was something he would have said. 'About the rumours. What Malfoy's saying?' He had caught, and stopped at the edge of hearing range to await her reply.  
  
Though the intense grief he had felt come off her when she had eventually answered had stopped him smiling:  
  
'If he's saying that Harry and I helped kill Voldemort, then yes, it's true. If he's saying that I killed Harry on purpose, then no, it's not.'  
  
'And the other thing?'  
  
Hermione had just turned away, unable to answer. In the clothes she was wearing it was obvious she was seven months pregnant.  
  
And so the funeral had begun, with a small, but discernable distance between Hermione and the people standing around her. It was sad, but understandable.  
  
However, as Severus had been musing and focusing on Hermione, he had not noticed the funeral come to an end. It was only the flow of people moving away that alerted him to the fact. Hermione had yet to move.  
  
Once everyone bar himself, Hermione and Dumbledore had disapparated of disappeared, he released his partial control of her emotions to let her deal with things her own way, then settled down to wait. Dumbledore came to sit beside him, and the two were peaceful until a series of little plops announced a few new arrivals.  
  
Hermione remained unaware, but the two men turned to be met by Cornelius Fudge himself, with a guard of four aurors.  
  
"I asked to be informed when she was ready to spoken to." Fudge opened coldly.  
  
"And we will, minister." Dumbledore answered equally coldly. The lack of capital letter on the honorific was obvious, too.  
  
"I meant when she awoke."  
  
"Then I'd advise you to say what you mean. It generally avoids confusion."  
  
"Then let me be clear. There will be no more attempts to prevent this investigation from going forward. I will interview her today, and bring this to trial as soon as possible."  
  
"No, you will not." That was Snape, evil Snape, icy Snape, intimidating Snape speaking.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"I'd apologise, but then I'm not sorry. I thought we were speaking clearly, so here it is. Miss Granger has her NEWTs in two weeks, and these proceedings will disrupt that. Her pregnancy means they cannot be delayed. I'm sure you were not aware of that, or you would not have made the suggestion."  
  
His tone, however, said he believed the exact opposite.  
  
"So, I would like you to consider that the outcome of the trial exonerates Miss Granger entirely, as I expect it will. You will have prevented her from qualifying as a witch, which I will take personally. I have spent a considerable amount of time tutoring her in readiness for these exams. If there's one thing I dislike more than you, minister, it's wasting my time. As I said, I take it personally.  
  
"You think Miss Granger was out for revenge, so let me tell you, you have no idea what a vengeance quest looks like. I do. And I would be happy to show you. So let me explain. Should you prevent Miss Granger from qualifying as a witch, or give her an unfair trial, I will publish the details of every death Voldemort or his death eaters has caused in the three years since his resurrection in any media interested.  
  
"Don't look so disbelieving. You might not rate the Muggle police, but I have (like everywhere else) contacts there. Contacts happy to compile a list of every body found with the ritualistic markings that the death eaters love to leave, of any and ever crime featuring a dark mark hanging in the air. And you know how long that list is going to be. Try having a working relationship with the Muggle Prime Minister after that, because he will receive a copy, you can be sure.  
  
"And if that is not enough to turn public opinion against you, I will publish the name of every death eater I have encountered, along with the amounts of money they have contributed towards your private ministerial coffers. And yes, I do have that information already.  
  
"So, if these are events you do not want to come to pass, then here is what you will do. Nothing, until Hermione's results are published. Then you will hold a trial, where both Miss Granger and I will testify, under the influence of verisatum, administered and brewed by an independent official. All the national media will have representatives there. And we will have the truth out once and for all.  
  
"Do you agree?"  
  
Fudge swallowed, the answered,  
  
"You wouldn't dare."  
  
Snape merely raised one eyebrow. "Try me."  
  
Dumbledore nodded his assent and approval.  
  
Fudge disapparated, followed by the aurors, who were grinning. It seemed no-one likes a bureaucrat.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione had felt the empathic emissions from Severus weaving their way to him across the crowd - calm, strength, control, love. They were a crutch she felt grateful for; they allowed her to carry on without breaking down entirely and maintain some dignity, in what seemed to be a sea of hostile faces. But they were only a crutch, not a reality, she reminded herself, as the funeral progressed.  
  
After Ron had spoken to her, virtually accused her, she had abandoned trying to follow the words. The sentiments were enough, and she tuned out the voice leading the service to little more than a lilting hum, so that her thoughts could follow their path unhindered.  
  
She began tracing the route between first meeting Harry and Ron on the train, through the incident with the troll, and the adventures that had ensued. Logic and poisons - basilisks - werewolves - dementors - time travel - dragons - screaming eggs - endless hex practises. She was just reviewing the incident in the fifth year with the errant broomstick and the giant squid with something approaching amusement, when she felt her crutch collapse.  
  
Turning quickly, she scanned where the crowd had been for Severus, and instead found it gone, and Severus and Dumbledore standing a way back waiting for her. It seemed the funeral had ended and she hadn't even notice, but Severus seemed prepared to wait as long as was necessary.  
  
Turning away, she missed the arrival of Fudge and his aurors.  
  
Instead her attention focused on the graves before her. Harry's was still fresh, as were the tumult of emotions running through her at the moment, so she wandered on to the next headstones. Lily and James had been buried in the same grave, a circular symbol representing eternal love carved into the stone. Beyond that the previous generations of Potters were lined up, the dates displayed on their markers stretching back over several centuries. It appeared the Potter ancestral home had been in Godric's Hollow for some considerable time.  
  
Which raised a big question Hermione had been avoiding. Was Harry going to be the last Potter? Genetically, she knew the answer was no. Her child was currently the last Potter, but it took more than a genetic match to make a parent, or come to that an heir. By Hermione's reckoning anyway. In her mind the issue was simple - her child would be a Granger, but recent events had made her wonder.  
  
As her anger at Harry had dissipated, she had begun to wonder whether or not she owed him anything. He had certainly never asked her to take his name, or bear him an heir. She knew she had no obligation to him, but they had been friends - virtually inseparable - for six years, and he had saved her life on more than one occasion. And when it had come down to it, he had fought for her, rather than against her.  
  
Finally, she felt ready to face his grave. Hesitantly she sat down at the foot of it, and crossed her legs underneath her. In her mind, she said what she had to say, although around her there was only silence.  
  
'Harry', she wanted to scream, 'you betrayed me worse than anyone else ever has. You caused me the most intense mental and physical pain I've ever known. The hurt you caused me will never leave me.  
  
'You were my best friend - and Voldemort managed to persuade you to do that to me - and that's why I was so angry with you. Why wasn't I good enough, or important enough to you, to fight? I'd have really liked an answer.  
  
'But despite that, I can't be angry any more, or hate you. The way you died - well up to then I'd have said you'd failed in your fight for good - but now I'm not so sure. In the end, you did what I know you've always wanted to: kill Voldemort. We couldn't have done it without you.  
  
'I'm having your child, and I'd like you to have known about that properly, perhaps to have seen your daughter. I don't know if she'll look like you. I'm sure she'll do and say things that remind me of you - but at least the memories won't be so overriddingly painful. But I don't know if I'll tell her about you, or if she'll take your name.  
  
'I'm sorry. I don't know why, or what about, but I wanted to say that. I hope you find your peace.'  
  
The thoughts were sealed with more silence. Vaguely she could hear Severus talking in the back ground, and then turned to find Fudge flouncing away, then apparating, and Severus drawn up to his full and impressive height, looking truly menacing.  
  
She had said all she had to say - made her peace - and knew that it was time to leave. Her silent monologue had cleared the air, and made a definite end to the relationship. In her heart, Hermione knew she had visited Harry's grave for the last time, and shed her last tear for him. She walked over towards her lover.  
  
As she approached, she caught the tail end of a conversation with Dumbledore saying,  
  
". . . really think it was a wise offer to make?"  
  
"Albus, there's no such thing as an independent official. Trust me, I have a plan."  
  
"If it's optional, I'd really rather not trust you as far as I can throw you."  
  
"I'll take that as a compliment."  
  
"Hello. What did Fudge want?"  
  
Both Severus and Dumbledore turned immediately, looking slightly like they had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.  
  
Severus smiled his most reassuring smile, "To wish you well in your exams."  
  
"Oh, gods, I'd totally forgotten about them! When are they! I've lost track of time."  
  
"In about three days." Answered Dumbledore.  
  
The information rendered Hermione totally speechless. She looked like a rabbit caught in the glare of headlights.  
  
Severus grinned, almost maliciously. "I suppose this is one of the occasions on which being an insufferable know-it-all comes in handy."  
  
Hermione just shook her head, still in shock. Severus offered her his arm, and she took it dazedly, and allowed him to double apparate her back to just outside Hogwarts.  
  
By the time they were walking up the drive towards the entrance hall, Hermione had found her tongue, and was chattering ceaselessly about the revision she was going to need to do, where she was going to do it, and when, and in what order.  
  
Severus felt himself thinking longingly of her earlier silence, or even her coma, but instead settled for calming her down.  
  
* * *  
  
It was a good thing, Hermione reflected at various points over the next week, that she had spent so many days in a deep sleep. The Monday after she had attended Harry's funeral, her exams had begun. That she was as prepared as any other student that had ever taken them did nothing to quieten her nerves, and she spent the intervals between exams revising frantically.  
  
However, some cruel irony meant that Severus was the only one who ever saw this. All her examinations were taken in the room adjoining Dumbledore's office, and she was collected from her room in Gryffindor tower by a member of staff and escorted there on each occasion. So whilst the morning before a afternoon exam (or the night before a morning exam) she was frantic with anxieties, leafing through her notes over an over, in the hour or so before her exam a muted calm washed over her. It was as if in her heart of hearts she knew that there was nothing more she could do to prepare, and that last minute cramming was unnecessary, as she knew every word that was there anyway. That self-confidence only reared its head at times of most desperate need, but the fact that it did, meant that she was able to perform well in her exams.  
  
Hence when she was collected, there was only one word to describe her manner: poise.  
  
But on the roller coaster between highs of elation at an exam gone well, and calms of pre-exam confidence, peaks of nervousness, and troughs of satisfaction at a paper that contained no unknowns, she was hardly relaxed enough to sleep. That, along with the fact that she had to get up at least twice a night to go to the toilet, meant she found little rest, and by the end of the week saw her running on adrenaline and pepper-up potion.  
  
Beside that, she was sleeping alone, and in her Gryffindor room, not Severus's. If there was a reason for that, she couldn't put her finger on it. It wasn't just that in the advanced stage of her pregnancy she no longer felt comfortable with the idea of making love, because she knew he would understand and respect her reservations. And she couldn't fool herself that it was to spare him the disturbance that her agitated and wakeful state would cause him, as she knew he would care for her, and needed much less sleep than she did. He would look after her, and support her; she knew that, just as she knew he felt hurt at not having the opportunity to. And she regretted causing that hurt.  
  
Yet, in her current state, both mental and physical she wanted to be alone. She had no time to concentrate on anyone except herself, and that had the potential to be even more hurtful to Severus than her avoidance of him.  
  
But now they were over - she had finished with a final exam in charms - and there were no more excuses, she reminded herself. She had to provide a real reason for sitting in her room with no lights on, staring at herself in the moonlit mirror, or she had to go to him.  
  
Slowly she raised her eyes to meet those of the pair reflected in the mirror. The steady brown gaze seemed just a little too knowing, and presented her with two rather cold realities: she knew why she was avoiding Severus; and she was too afraid to admit it.  
  
Deal with the second she told herself, and maybe you'll deal with the first as well.  
  
"Here goes nothing . . ." she whispered to herself, to set the ball rolling.  
  
I am avoiding Severus because I've made an end, or had an end made for me, with all the pain and suffering of the past year. Maybe it's artificial, but there's no perfect time to stop being a victim, and get on with your life in the independent way you always planned, so this is as good as it gets. I want to prove to myself that I can do this alone, if I have to, and that I don't have to lean on him the whole time. That I still have the choice to stand alone.  
  
And because if I get too close and declare my undying love to him, I won't be able to do what I intended. I love him, but I won't let that stop me from keeping my word. The past is not truly over until every loose thread has been tied down. And that is why I don't know if I can go to him. I don't know if I'm strong enough.  
  
Concluding that neither reason should keep her from the man she loved, she gathered her box of floo powder, chucked a handful into the flames, and was gone with a cry of "Professor Snape's rooms." 


	24. Trials

Trials  
  
Hermione picked up the paper lying in front of her and unfolded it. The headline glaring up at her seemed to confirm her memories of the day before, surreal as they were. She read on to give her an outside perspective on the events that had occurred, as her own perspective was skewed beyond repair.  
  
TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS AT THE MINISTRY [the article began]  
  
Yesterday the ministry of magic held the long awaited trial of those involved in the demise of the most feared dark wizard of the century, He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Even-Though-He's-Dead. In contrast to the lengthy trials following the first downfall, this one contained only four witnesses, who gave short testimonies.  
  
The trial itself was not to ascertain whether those involved were Death- Eaters (although the trials of suspected Death-Eaters will begin soon) but rather to determine how Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, failed to live up to his name, and was killed.  
  
The whole affair has been shrouded in secrecy for three weeks now, since the day of the spring equinox, when the fateful events occurred, and as the trial uncovered, even before that.  
  
In a break from tradition, three witnesses - Dumbledore, Snape and Granger - were given verisatum (although in a low dose) before testifying. The potion was administered voluntarily to all three, by an independent official, Mr J Ferguson, who some of you readers may remember as the protégé of Arthur Weasely in the Misuse of Magical Artefacts Department. His input into the Muggle Protection Act which Mr Weasely introduced was described as invaluable, though shortly afterwards Mr Ferguson decided to move into private consultancy. As a result of this introduction all reporters were restricted to using dictaquills that note verbatim the evidence given, and the whole situation took on the air of a Muggle press conference.  
  
Dumbledore opened the proceedings giving evidence as to the actual method used to defeat Voldemort in technical detail, citing 'empathic transmissions and manipulation of chi, carried out by Professor Snape and Miss Granger' as the main means by which the dramatic feat was accomplished. Beyond that though, what he had to say was of little real interest, though academic community will surely find the work new and innovative to a spectacular degree. What emerged was that Snape and Granger (a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, as odd partnerships go) are a formidable force to deal with.  
  
A senior Auror gave testimony as to the circumstances in which Voldemort's body were found, asserting that in his professional opinion the details provided more than explained both the events he had witnessed and the situation in which the corpse had been found. The inquest into the cause of the other deaths of which evidence was found at the scene (the bodies of Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew were also discovered) will take place at a later date.  
  
The revelations involving the relationship between the two were much more fascinating, although Dumbledore maintained that he knew nothing of it.  
  
Professor Snape, 38, former Death-Eater and teacher at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the past twenty years, known to all his students for acerbic teaching style, was next to give evidence. When asked if to the he agreed for what was a highly dangerous procedure to be carried out on Harry Potter to gain revenge, either for himself or another, he replied with a simple 'no'. The prosecutor continued as to whether anyone else that had been involved had those motives, again to be met with a 'no'.  
  
When pressed, Snape elaborated that he had agreed for a course of action to be taken that could possibly cause the death of Potter because he judged him to be completely under the control of Voldemort, and therefore a danger to others and himself. He stated that he had seen an opportunity to remove the menace that Voldemort had posed to society, and contested that his actions should be viewed in the context of what was for the greater good. He refused to speculate as to Miss Granger's motives, although he said he had never had cause to suspect they were anything but honourable.  
  
Throughout the proceedings he maintained his composure, even when asked whether and for how long he had had a relationship with Granger. Hermione Granger, 18, has recently graduated - only two days previously - from Hogwart's School, and has for the past seven years been a pupil of Severus Snape. Dumbledore stated that her graduation has been brought forward 'for medical reasons'. We are left to assume that he was referring to the pregnancy that was so obvious as she took the stand.  
  
Both Dumbledore and Snape pointed out that since these results have been published (all top grades, of course) Granger is now a qualified witch and entitled to live her life as an adult witch in society, with all the rights that that affords. However whilst Dumbledore maintained that he had no knowledge of any improper relationship between student and teacher, Snape confirmed that there had been a relationship. In terms of length, he declared it had been 'nearly all of the academic year'; when asked whether the relationship had become inappropriate (for this read sexual) he replied that it had, and that he bore the responsibility for that.  
  
Such revelations having been made meant that they were the main focus of the questioning in Granger's testimony. The accusations from Draco Malfoy that the father of Granger's unborn child was Harry Potter, and a result of rape, were among the last to deal with.  
  
It was a visibly nervous and pale looking Granger that entered the witness box to give her evidence. Though the emotion was obviously taking its toll, she answered all questions clearly, and impassionedly. For the magic community that was not present, there is no way to do justice to what was said, but to quote the words used. Which is what this journalist suspects is the purpose of the dictaquills being obligatory.  
  
Prosecutor: When you made your plan to defeat Voldemort, were you aware that it could result in Potter's death?  
  
Granger: I suppose I was.  
  
P: Yes or no, Miss Granger.  
  
G: Yes.  
  
P: Did this worry you?  
  
G: Not really.  
  
P: How so?  
  
G: I knew that what we were doing was more important, so I didn't let myself think about it.  
  
P: And that was it? You didn't want him dead?  
  
G: No. I did not want him dead. He was my friend.  
  
P: Was he your friend?  
  
G: Yes. Of course.  
  
[ a pause as the prosecutor consults his notes.]  
  
P: And how long has your relationship with Severus Snape been going on?  
  
G: Long enough.  
  
P: Could you be more specific?  
  
G: Since October.  
  
P: And the relationship has been an intimate one.  
  
G: Yes.  
  
P: Statements have been given to say that Harry Potter raped you in October of last year. Do you still deny that this occurred?  
  
G: They are false statements. Lies.  
  
P: Are you sure?  
  
G: I think I'd know.  
  
P: So the child's father is not Harry Potter?  
  
G: No.  
  
P: Who is the father of your child?  
  
[Here granger paused, obviously fighting the effects of the verisatum, and loosing.]  
  
G: Severus is.  
  
Shocking as the revelations were, the politically minded amongst you will have discerned the seriousness for the revelations to the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Over the past three years he has repeatedly reassured us that the situation is in hand and that measures have been taken to limit his return. But this trial has brought to light the degree of control that Voldemort had been allowed to achieve.  
  
That Voldemort should ever be in a position to infiltrate Hogwarts should provide a major indictment against the ability of Fudge to run the country, or look to the nation's safety. Now the extent to which we have been lied to has become apparent, our faith in the ministry and the leadership must be seriously diminished. For those of us that heard the whole evidence, that we are only freed from what could have easily been a serious defeat for the forces of good by the independent actions of a teacher and student is highly worrying. What is even more worrying is that after the event attempts are being made to blame them for the consequences - regrettable but necessary - when they should be praised for bravery.  
  
On a final note, Dumbledore announced that Severus Snape would no longer be working at Hogwarts as of the end of the week, a decision he had not taken lightly but nonetheless had to make.  
  
All that is left is to wish the two individuals well in their future lives and send them on with our gratitude.  
  
Hermione looked up from the paper to find Severus watching her. She smiled slightly, and said  
  
"Well, the Daily Prophet's given us a good write up, and Fudge a bit of stick."  
  
Severus lent over to kiss her lightly on the lips. "That was the idea."  
  
He smirked, looking definitely self-satisfied. "I said you'd have to trust me, and it'd all work out."  
  
"I still can't work out how you fixed the verisatum. Or how you got it past Ferguson."  
  
"Well there was no love lost between the ministry and Ferguson - he was pushed out as Fudge felt he threatened his position. He was only too willing to help him screw him over. And as to the verisatum - I am potions master after all. It was easy to concoct a placebo with suitable physiological effects, but giving no compunction to tell the truth."  
  
"Well, I'm glad you mentioned that fact before we began, or I'd have said a few things that wouldn't have looked good for us."  
  
"Whatever you said I'd have still lost my job."  
  
"True."  
  
"Ah, well, to new begins. We should toast that. Where's the alcohol?"  
  
Severus pointed at the small cabinet near the fire, and then added, "Isn't it a bit early to be drinking?"  
  
"Probably. But then, I'm an immoral degenerate, a vengeful harpy, and a coldly calculating killer, so a glass of brandy before lunch can't make much worse."  
  
He frowned, "You shouldn't joke about that."  
  
Her back was still turned, shielding the glasses and her hands from view. She was taking her sweet time pouring that brandy.  
  
"Whoever said I was joking?" She replied innocently, crossed the floor, and handed him his brandy.  
  
Holding her glass up, she though a moment, then piped up in mock solemnity, "Here's to encasing the past in one of those cardboard boxes you are so fond of and packing it away. Except for all the good bits."  
  
"I'll drink to that." They chinked glasses, and both drained all the liquid in then.  
  
After a moment Severus swayed slightly, and then looked up at Hermione, realisation dawning in his eyes. "You weren't joking." It was a statement, not a question, so Hermione merely took her seat opposite him. "What did you give me?"  
  
Instead of answering, she withdrew a vial from her pocket, and set it on the table between them. Next to it she placed a velvet covered ring box. Severus's eyes widened in recognition.  
  
Hermione pointed at the vial. "I gave you the poison from your desk, though in a cut down dose. This is the antidote. There's more than enough. You need to take it within six hours of now, so take a note of the time. And these are your rings. I found them, and borrowed them, I'm sorry, but I did have a kind of marriage proposal, and I needed to know. Anyway, we're a close colour match.  
  
"And I've finally figured out. I do want to marry you, or at least be publicly engaged to you, I don't know if I'm ready to marry anyone yet. That might seem a strange thing to say after I just gave you poison, but I have to know. You asked me once if you had to prove yourself, well yes, now you do. You've given me so much, more than you had any need to, but everything that you promised you would, and this was our deal. I can't go back on my word, but this way you are free to decide to release me from it, or not.  
  
"For the first time in a long time, the choice you make is entirely your own, and that's what I want to give you. You deserve that. And so do I. I have to know if I'm investing my life in a man who would secretly prefer to be dead. If that's what you want . . . well, I love you, enough to let you go if that's what you need to find happiness."  
  
She lent forward to kiss him gently on the forehead, and then drew back to look in his eyes.  
  
"I do love you, you know. I've packed, and I'm going to America. I have a few interviews there, though I don't know if I want to move there. I'll be in Washington if you decide to follow. Or you can go anywhere you please; it really is up to you. I can't say I'll wait forever, but if you don't come, I'll wait for as long as it takes me to grieve. I only just got my life back; I can't give it up so soon."  
  
She took hold of his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "Okay, I'll go now. I'm sorry if it all seems too clinical, but I spent ages planning how to explain. Was it any good?"  
  
Severus just nodded, then opened his mouth uncertainly.  
  
"It's okay, you don't have too speak. Just remember I love you, and I would love nothing more than to raise this child by your side. Goodbye."  
  
He let go of her hand, and with only one backwards glance, she left the dungeons for the last time. 


	25. And an ending?

I took down what I intended to be the sequel a while ago - it wasn't going anywhere fast.  
  
When I started writing this fic, I had two things; the opening scenes and the rape written by someone else in the form of a short story, and this letter, written by me before I had ever read the initial short story entitled 'Possession'.  
  
At their request, and because I wanted the practise in writing a long piece, I decided to tie the two together. However when I reached the end of my story, I realised the ending that I had always envisioned - that Hermione receives the letter, and fears that Severus is dead, then he arrives on the scene, hoping to beat the letter, and they have a joyous (and smutty) reunion before trotting of into the sunset - was not going to work.  
  
I can still see Severus writing this letter, to pass the time, and to get his thoughts down on paper, so that it is easier to apply some logic to them. . . but as to what he would decide - I have no idea.  
  
The only suggestion I can make is this:  
  
Hopefully I have told this story well enough that you can see where the characters are going, and what they will do, and that you care enough about them to have your ideal ending mapped out. I think it was Riley that wrote something like  
  
'maybe I will do a sequel, but I prefer to launch the boat for a destination, and let the reader decide how it gets there'  
  
well, she's a much better writer than me (and published) so I'll plagiarise her, and leave it at that.  
  
The next chapter is the letter. 


	26. The letter that brings us full circle

Dearest Hermione,  
  
I am still debating. As I write this letter your offer still hangs in the air, tantalising me. I will not lie to you. I have always tried not to lie to you - I am tempted. What you have given me is what I have spent the last two decades wanting. So I will not lie. And therein lies my quandary, you see. Truthfulness has never been one of my deepest characteristics, but faced with a vision of you, I see no other way.  
  
I want you to know that whatever I decide, I alone decided it. You said it, but I want you to believe it. None of this should tarnish you in any way, and the one thing I have learned is that guilt is a strong tie to the past. The only way to be truly free of your past is to break the ties that bind you to it. Guilt over being responsible for a death (be it mine or Potter's) is not a tie easily broken; it is a memory more likely to break you than anything else. That is why I want to sat that none of this is your fault. You were the victim - because you took your life back does not change that. You do not have to remain traumatised your whole life to prove that you were innocent to begin with.  
  
I am labouring this point, because there will be a time when you will want to free yourself of your past, if it has not already come. You are a remarkable person, clichéd as it may sound, but nonetheless true for the number of times it has been repeated. Your destiny should be your own. That is the least you deserve.  
  
Free of your past, the path you choose to follow may not be any different to the one that you would have been guided down as Hogwart's Best and Brightest, but it will be your own, and so not resented. We all have our destinies - reaching the final destination should be a triumph, not accompanied by the feeling of reaching the impenetrable depths of a prison devised for you.  
  
It is true enough that any destiny feels enclosing at times, but always try to be in a jail of your own making, and then there is some hope of escape.  
  
I can imagine you now, grinning patiently at my lecture, politely puzzled as to why I am trying to give you virtues and goals that were probably fairy gifts at your christening. Maybe I am just trying to convince myself. That I have learnt the values necessary to become a worthwhile member of society; that I am a good enough person for you to love.  
  
Not that I doubt that you love me, but I doubt whether you should love me. I know, that is self-pitying, and an attitude you have, but I cannot shake of decades of character forming in my solitary dungeon. It is a part of who I am, and maybe who I always was. I suppose you will just say you love that as well. Your logic is as faultless as mine, so I will abandon the argument as you are not here to defend yourself.  
  
These are the questions that plague me. I hope I have time enough to find answers - to discover I want to live; only to have run out of time is a cruel twist of fate I have come to expect from life.  
  
Oh, it has just occurred to me to apologise. That I did not immediately drink the antidote and rush into your arms is not a slight on you or what we have shared this past year. I think you understand that - that is why you gave me the choice, rather than dragging me on. You knew that even though my love for you ran true and deep, I have spent the last two decades wanting nothing more than to die peacefully, and been denied that most simple of rights: the choice to live or die. You realised that I must be faced with this choice, and decide to leave behind my road out of this life for a while, or my whole attention could never be on the world I inhabited, as I would always be looking for the turning that could take me on to the next. You always were perceptive.  
  
There is one other thing I wanted to say - that I am glad you have done this. Truly I am. Though it is the most difficult decision of my life, I am happy beyond measure that you felt the need to honour your promise. The bargain was that I help you get your life back, and you would help me end mine. Whether or not I am able to save my life, I am contented knowing that I have saved yours.  
  
If it makes you feel any better - I know it sounds like I'm saying goodbye - the antidote is still intact on my desk. Before this year, I would have smashed the vial instantly, to block all my ways back. Know that I can still see the road back to you, to life, which is a luxury I never thought I'd allow myself once I'd finally found a way out.  
  
I love you  
  
I love you  
  
I love you  
  
I can't think of anything else to say, so I'll repeat that for a while until inspiration strikes.  
  
Your face and memory has filled up my mind, and I find myself incapable of thinking any more. I love everything about you and the way you are, your way of thinking, your voice, everything . . .  
  
Perhaps we will see eachother again. I still do not know, though it is only up to me. I have always though perhaps is the one word that could inspire hope in the most hardened of hearts, so I will send it to you, with all my love and hopefully none of my bad influence.  
  
Perhaps.  
  
Severus.  
  
* * *  
  
THE END? 


End file.
